


No Better Man

by Malifique



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Everyone is competent because that's hot, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mouthy con artist Rhys, Mutual Pining, Plotty, Slow Burn, Smart Full Bastard Jack, Soft sad killing machine Timothy, Surviving Handsome Jack together and apart, implied non con, love and adoration, unequal power dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malifique/pseuds/Malifique
Summary: Timothy is Handsome Jack’s personal attack dog, worn down by years of soul-destroying work but tied by loyalty to the worst man in the universe. Rhys is a conman on the biggest job of his life and not too proud to use his assets to get what he wants. But when Rhys steals more than just Hyperion's secrets, they both find out that Jack really, really hates to lose.A story about redemption, sacrifice and second chances.-Note: the dubcon is only between Handsome Jack and Rhys. Tim and Rhys both go through a lot of unpleasantness at Jack's hands. Safety is not guaranteed, but there will be a happy ending.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands), Handsome Jack/Timothy Lawrence (unrequited), Timothy Lawrence/Rhys
Comments: 192
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ain't no place for a hero.

A rakk swept silently overhead, making the sun blink. From his spot in the lee of the hill, Timothy could see for miles around, all of Pandora’s savagery spread out below. If he had ever found it beautiful before, he was numbed to it now.

He had been down here for nearly a month, clearing out bandit camp after bandit camp until it all became a blur, blood-soaked technicolour under the relentless sun. These missions usually ran the same: Jack pointed him at a target and let him off the leash. It was easier to stop thinking and let years of muscle memory take over: reload, aim, pull, reload. Let his shield bear the brunt, and when that wore out punching in health kit after health kit until he was pure adrenaline and fury, bright as gunfire. Handsome Jack in the flesh.

Now he was bone-tired, and sick of the fine grit that settled in every crease of skin and coated every mouthful of food. But he had one more job to finish before he could go home.

Tim sighted down his sniper scope at the bandit camp below. Three towers, each with armed guards. High walls and barbed fences. Surprisingly well organised for a bunch of savages. From his peripherals he could see the digijacks getting into position, awaiting his signal. Tim drew a deep breath, blew it out slowly, and pulled the trigger _one two three_ times in quick succession. The guards in the first tower dropped, each with a perfect dot between their eyes. The digijacks took care of the other two towers, but someone in the camp must have seen something: an alarm started blaring like a demented skag in heat. 

“Shit.” Timothy leapt over his cover and slid his way down the hill as the sound of gunfire and screams rose behind the camp walls. Sounded like the digijacks were getting busy. He bolted toward the locked gate, checking his synchronised watch. Any second now…

There was a flare of light a bare second before the gate exploded. Tim threw up his arm against the flying shrapnel, wincing against the blooming heat. When he looked up again one of the digijacks--Number One--was standing in the wreckage, grinning like a shark.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim muttered. “Job’s not done yet, you can gloat later.”

He threw the sniper rifle over his shoulder and drew his pistol in one smooth motion, dropping the first couple of bandits coming his way. Number One sprinted past him, lobbing a grenade through an open doorway. The resulting concussive blast pushed Tim off his feet. He rolled with it, landing in a crouch, taking out another wave of bandits coming for him. He could hear Number Two cackling somewhere on his other side, gun blasting. His heart was pounding like a war drum. His focus narrowed until his pistol was an extension of himself, shot after shot finding their mark, painting the walls wet and red. 

Somewhere between emptying another clip and reloading, Tim noticed that the inhabitants of this camp were unusually persistent. Most Pandoran bandits fought like the ferals they were, but given enough lethal projectile encouragement they tended to flee. These ones, however, came at him like they had a death wish. It made him uneasy, but there was no time to overthink it. A man swinging a machete got too close. Tim swung the butt of his pistol into his face, plugged a round into his gut, and rolled over the falling body to the next target. 

It didn’t take long. He and the digijacks took the place apart joint by joint until the camp lay in pieces around them; what remained smelled like an abattoir and looked like a nightmare. In the empty air the alarm still blared, tinny and grating. He would have to send one of the digijacks to shut it off. Tim sat back on his heels and looked up at the sky, blinking blood out of his eyes. It was another one of Pandora’s clear golden days, and high above him Helios stared back with its cyclops eye. He wondered if Jack was watching too. 

“Hey handsome,” Number Two called, “over here.”

Tim joined him and Number One at the entrance to an ugly, squat building. The sheet metal door was shut tight, nothing but darkness behind the gaps. Tim took a step back and shot out the lock.

A shape burst through the door, wild eyed and screaming. Number Two dropped it with a bullet, and as it slid to a stop by Tim’s feet he saw that it was an old woman, a knife held loosely in her slack hands. He looked through the door as light streamed in and felt his heart drop like a rock.

“Don’t shoot!” he yelled. The digijacks rolled their eyes but obeyed. The inside of the building was a single room, filled with small desks and chairs. Books were scattered around like they had been knocked over in a panic. A few pictures, crudely drawn but brightly coloured, dotted the peeling walls. In the far corner a dozen kids huddling together stared back at them, wide-eyed and silent. A few of the younger ones whimpered, the sound barely discernible beneath the wailing alarm. 

_Jesus_. Tim could feel the tremours starting, the usual aftermath of battle as the adrenaline settled and his body demanded its due. He tried to think of anything to say. ‘ _I won’t hurt you_ ’ was ridiculous when he was covered in the blood of their families, and ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ was monumentally inadequate. After a too long minute, he stepped back and gently closed the door on the small pale faces.

Number One spoke: “Jack said--”

“I know what Jack said,” Tim snapped. He started making his way out, the ground sticky under his boots. He couldn’t bear to look back at the school, at the old woman lying in the dirt. Jack had said to wipe out some savages in the Badlands, ‘ _these fuckers here and here in particular’_ , but surely Jack hadn’t known about the children. He wouldn’t have wanted Tim to harm them. 

“They’re dead anyway,” Number Two said, keeping pace with him easily. “It’ll just take longer this way--” He and Number One collapsed in a shower of blue sparks as Tim dismissed them. He didn’t want to think about what they were saying. His stomach roiled and there was a sour taste in his mouth. He must’ve eaten something bad earlier. 

He scaled the hill behind the camp where his motorcycle waited to take him to the extraction point. The rakk circling overhead had been joined by a dozen more, no doubt drawn by the commotion. As soon as he was out of sight they would land and begin their feast. 

Tim let out a shuddering breath, started his bike and headed for home.


	2. Chapter 2

If he had to choose between a life of crime or the long, slow death of being ordinary, Rhys would not hesitate. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was destined for greatness. How else to explain his luck? Sure, he had brains and charm and a survivalist streak a mile wide, but above all he was lucky. 

The odds of a crippled kid surviving alone on Pandora were about the same as an ice cube in hell, but he did it. He beat the odds. He found the girls, just as they found each other, and together they carved out a life for themselves in the hellscape of psychos, bandits and skags. Sure, a few people got scammed along the way, lost the shirt off their backs or their life savings, blah blah blah, but they never killed anyone, and on Pandora’s scale of morality that practically made them saints. 

In the early days they scraped by, taking what jobs they could. It wasn’t glamorous but they always had a safe place to sleep and enough food in their bellies, which was more than some. Things really improved when Rhys discovered his knack for computers. He didn’t have Fiona’s forgery skills or Sasha’s uncanny ability with people, but he understood ones and zeros. He could crack a sealed system like an egg and pick out the secrets within. And once they poured their savings into getting his first cybernetics fitted, the sky was the limit. With each successful job they moved further up in the world: their ride got better, their clothes got nicer, and their contacts grew until they had the luxury of choice. 

And then one day, Fiona landed them the big fish: infiltrate Hyperion, do some light corporate espionage, in and out six months max. Pull it off, and they would have a payout big enough to make even the most cynical crim salivate. 

“What does Atlas want so bad they’re willing to steal it?” Rhys asked.

Fiona waved her hand. “Some late gen weapons tech or something. Evil mega corporations like these guys are always stealing from each other. Not asking too many questions is part of the deal.”

“What’s the catch?” Sasha said, because there was always a catch.

“Oh, you know, just avoiding the wrath of Handsome Jack for the rest of our natural lives.” That possibility didn’t seem quite real. Living on Pandora, Handsome Jack up in his fancy space station was ever present but ignored in the way of static; like the wrath of a hypothetical god, assumed but untested.

“So if we fail, we’re dead. If we succeed, we’ll wish we’re dead. This is a terrible idea,” Rhys said. “I’m in. Who’s the sucker we’re gonna foist this suicide mission on?”

His sisters exchanged a meaningful glance, and turned to look at him. 

“Woah, woah, back up,” he held up his hands. “Why me?”

“Because,” Fiona said, long suffering, “this job needs a decent hacker, and we didn’t spend all that money on your cybernetics just so you could look pretty.”

“Plus,” Sasha chimed in, “if we need to honeypot Handsome Jack, you’re definitely more his type.”

Rhys preened. “Yes, I _am_ a rare combination of brains, looks and wit--”

“Handsome Jack loves the bimbos,” Fiona said, with Sasha nodding along.

“Hey!” Rhys crossed his arms, scowling. “This bimbo is gonna make us rich.”

“Ten million dollars,” Fiona breathed, and yeah, the sound of that much money did make Rhys just a little horny. “And this could finally be your chance to bang your idol.”

“Handsome Jack is not my idol! I just, you know, think he’s very inspirational as a self-made man.”

“Yeah, that greedy murdering sociopath, what a hottie. We’ve all seen those posters in your room, Rhys.”

“They’re motivational!”

“Uh huh, just remind me to never go in there with a blacklight.”

The plan came together effortlessly, like all the good cons. They spent a big chunk of their savings upgrading his cybernetics to the latest Hyperion line, because appealing to Handsome Jack’s ego was a rock solid bet. It was easy enough to forge an employment history with the company and obtain a one-way ticket to Helios. The rest would be up to Rhys, and Rhys was always lucky.

Right before he left Sasha pulled him into a tight hug. Rhys buried his face in her hair and breathed her in like he could keep her with him like this. When it came to Fiona’s turn, she clutched him tight, and when she let go her eyes were suspiciously wet, though she would hit him for saying so. 

“Here,” she tucked a stun baton into his pocket. “For emergencies. And don’t accidentally shock yourself, you klutz.”

“I am the embodiment of grace and agility,” he sniffed. Six months was a long time to be separated, but if they could pull this off it would be all worth it. Ten million dollars was a lot of money on whatever planet. They would never have to work another day in their lives. 

Despite the aching worry at the thought of leaving his sisters behind, Rhys couldn’t deny the frisson of thrill as he pictured their glittering future, a life lived without worry. There was a definite spring in his step as he boarded the transport for Helios. This was like any other job, nothing he hadn’t handled a hundred times before. It would be an adventure: leaving Pandora, infiltrating Hyperion, and finally getting to meet Handsome Jack (who he absolutely, definitely hadn’t frequently fantasized inappropriately about). The stun baton was a reassuring weight in his pocket, but more importantly, Rhys had his lucky streak. And so, eyes turned brightly to the future, Rhys stepped into the lion’s den.

* 

Helios was about as bad as he had expected: a thousand people crammed into a futuristic tin can, over-stimulated and under-appreciated, all trying to claw up the slippery corporate ladder. As the new guy Rhys copped more than his share of sneers and snide remarks, but none of it bothered him. He had faced down rabid wildlife and cannibal raiders. These corporate d-bags and their machinations were no match for him. 

But for all of Handsome Jack’s over-the-top antics and pure id-driven behaviour, the man was no slouch with his information security. Either Jack had the best counter intrusion systems money could buy, or he had some smarts under all that bluster. Either way, it quickly became apparent to Rhys that he wasn’t going to be able to waltz into Hyperion’s core operations and lift the intel. Each section of the workforce laboured on discrete pieces of data, and each bit was further broken down at the individual level so that no one but Handsome Jack had the complete picture. It created inefficiencies, inflated costs, but security wise the system was air-tight. 

Two weeks into the job and Rhys hadn’t gotten any further than finding some mediocre porn on his supervisor’s work account. 

At the cafeteria, he poked listlessly at his overpriced lunch that looked like an artwork and tasted like stale air. He missed the food back home, especially Sasha’s hot sauce that could melt your face off and made even days-old skag taste good. He missed the girls like a phantom limb. While he doubted that Hyperion monitored all comms on Helios, unauthorised signals to Pandora would definitely raise a few flags. It was better not to risk it. He understood all this, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

As for Handsome Jack, other than his daily ‘morale’ broadcasts-- _”You see Jerry here? Jerry was a grade-A idiot and total waste of space. Jerry is now staining my carpets with his brains. Don’t be like Jerry”_ \--the closest Rhys had come to his idol was seeing the flapping of his coattails as the President of Hyperion stalked the corridors, leaving behind a trail of terror and destruction.

The one saving grace in all this was his new lunch buddies. Vaughn was cool, if cool came in ugly ties and last season’s specs. The accountant scored low on Hyperion’s ambition-slash-murder scale, which was likely why he was still a number cruncher, but that worked just fine for Rhys. As for Yvette, he admired her sense of style and utter shamelessness when it came to mooching. 

As Rhys sat brooding, brain spinning like a mouse in a wheel, Yvette sniffed the air and said, ‘Do you smell something? Like burning circuits?” She leaned over and looked at Rhys with mock concern. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth straining your brain over.” She nabbed a lotus chip off his plate and popped it into her mouth.

“Is Vasquez giving you trouble again?” Vaughn asked. “That jerk once tripped me in the corridors just for fun and broke my glasses.”

“Great hair though,” Yvette mused.

“It’s fake,” said Vaughn.

“Life is a constant disappointment,” said Yvette. 

Rhys groaned and buried his face in his hands. At this rate he was gonna be six months in and have nothing but a comprehensive list of Helios’ lunch options. He had to get close to Handsome Jack, get into the man’s personal ECHOnet account, but that was as likely right now as getting a skag to fly. 

His new friends continued chatting over his head, already used to his dramatics. Rhys only listened with half an ear. Handsome Jack would not deign to mingle with the great unwashed, unless he was feeling particularly violent. Rhys had to shmooze his way into one of Helios’ swanky social events somehow. Those were reserved for VVIPs and executives only. Maybe he could moonlight as waitstaff. And then what? Spill a drink on Jack and hope his doe-eyes would be good enough to avoid being murdered on the spot? Ridiculous. He groaned again, louder this time, as no one seemed to appreciate the agony he was in. Yvette snorted and slid his entire plate to her side of the table. 

“Oh hey,” Vaughn said. “Looks like Handsome Jack’s fired another PA.”

“Right out of the airlock, poor bastard,” Yvette said through a mouthful of very expensive salad. 

Rhys’ head snapped up just in time to see a pale corpse float past the cafeteria window. A shiver went through him as a plan popped into shape fully formed. Heart racing, he shoved up from the table, his chair falling over with a bang.

“You ok, bro?” asked Vaughn.

“‘Scuse me, gotta go, really need to pee.”

“TMI!” Yvette called out to his fleeing back.

Rhys banged into the men’s restroom and locked himself inside a cubicle. Sitting on the closed toilet, shuffling his feet over residue of illegal (but highly effective) stimulants and-- _Jesus, is that dried blood?_ \--he pulled up the corporate ECHOnet and found the Human Resources directory. It was a piece of cake breaking his way into the personnel files and rearranging things enough so that Rhys Strongfork, currently of data-mining in sector 12C, was the ideal candidate for the role of Personal Assistant to the President. 

Sitting back, Rhys puffed out a breath and gave himself a mental fist bump. Things were finally looking up, and now he just had to kick back and wait for the call. No more desk-jockeying for this data monkey. He started to grin as he realised he would need to update his wardrobe. If he was going to catch Handsome Jack’s eye, he had to pull out all the stops. He had dealt with plenty of Jack’s type before, and Rhys knew exactly how to play his cards with the uber-macho-with-anger-issues guys to have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Handsome Jack wouldn’t know what hit him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys meets his hero. Plans are set into motion.

The HR rep took one look at him and sighed. “Some days I feel like I’m just dropping fresh steaks into the skag cage. I need a career change, take up something less awful, like strangling kittens.” She handed him his upgraded employee pass and waved him out. “Please don’t die for, like, at least a month. I can’t keep doing this.”

Rhys gave her his best ‘innocent-caught-in-circumstances-beyond-his-control’ face. As soon as he was out of her office he straightened up and grinned. He was a goddamn genius, world’s best con and soon to be filthy rich. He whistled a cheery tune as he strode down the corridors, winking at those who passed him with lingering looks. He had splurged most of his paycheck on his new wardrobe, and it was worth every penny. His skagskin boots alone were so gorgeous he could kiss them. 

He caught his own reflection in a passing window and gave himself a critical assessment. His sisters mocked him relentlessly for his complete inability to grow a beard, but there were definite advantages to having a baby face. He had suckered more than his fair share of marks with these dimpled cheeks. Handsome Jack would be no exception.

Rhys fixed his hair, gave himself a quick finger gun pop, and made his way to the President’s office.

There was already someone waiting outside like he was late for his own funeral. Rhys winced as the smaller man rushed him. It was way too early for anyone to be so sweaty.

“You’re the new guy, huh,” the other guy said. His nametag read Quang. He gave Rhys a quick once over and shook his head. “Handsome Jack is going to eat you for breakfast.”

Rhys drew himself up to his full height and sneered with all the authority of his new position. “Can I help you?” he said icily.

“Yeah, uh, here.” Quang shoved an ECHOtab into his arms, doing a small double take at his cybernetics. “Get the boss to review these. And, uh, you don’t happen to be wearing a shielding device right now, do you?”

“No, why?” Rhys asked.

“Oh, no reason. Just, uh, maybe duck real fast if he looks pissed.” Quang gave another shake of his head and hurried off, muttering about lambs and slaughterhouses. 

Rhys scowled at his back, then gave the tablet a cursory scan with his ECHOeye. Nothing particularly interesting, just quarterly reports on some projects that looked like they were underperforming and over-cost. Ouch. No wonder the guy had been so sweaty. Rhys gave it a week before he would see Quang’s damp corpse drift past the cafeteria windows. 

Squaring his shoulders, pulse jumping with excitement, Rhys took a deep breath and pushed through the office doors. 

His first impression was of space, a precious commodity on Helios where people were typically pressed cheek to treacherous jowl. The place was cavernous, the high ceilings and wall of windows taking full advantage of the breath-taking view of Elpis. Rhys decided right there and then that this was the view he wanted when he was filthy rich. Minus the large marble busts of himself because, ew, tacky. Extravagance aside, what really drew his eye was the man at the high table. 

Rhys could feel goosebumps sweep down his arm as he, at long last, laid eyes on the man himself. God, Handsome Jack was even better looking in the flesh. The recordings didn’t fully capture his sheer physicality. Even sitting still, the man exuded a vaguely threatening magnetism. Rhys was a sucker for a good-looking thug, and there was no bigger thug than Handsome Jack. 

_Speak of the devil..._ Those blue-green eyes snapped up at Rhys’ entrance, then took their time sweeping over him. They weren’t so much undressing him as dissecting him, taking him apart piece by piece until Rhys felt like Jack could see right through to the giant dollar sign that made up his soul. That unsettlingly attractive mask slowly drew into a grin.

“Well, hello there gorgeous,” Jack said, sitting back in his ridiculously large chair. “You must be that full Helios special I ordered for breakfast.”

Rhys took a gamble and put on what Fiona called his ‘bitchy jailbait face’. “You know, I always wondered why Hyperion doesn’t do the standard workplace harassment brief every other company bored their new recruits with. I get it now.” It was a calculated risk. Rhys figured Handsome Jack was surrounded daily with ass-kissing sycophants. He couldn’t let himself be dismissed as another fawning groupie. If he got it wrong, he would be very sad about getting his nice new threads covered in blood. Not as sad as he would be about being dead, but still sad.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, and his grin sharpened into something more genuine. _Gotcha_ , Rhys thought. “Kitten’s got claws, huh? Nice to see HR doing their job for once. Come on then, show me what you’ve got.”

Doing what he thought was a decent job of keeping his nerves under wraps, Rhys sauntered his way to the desk. As he leaned to hand over the ECHOtab, Jack moved like a striking snake and grabbed his right arm. Pulled off balance, Rhys had to catch himself against the desk, heart in his throat. Jack gripped like a vise, his big hand coarse and dark against the polished metal. Rhys couldn’t help but notice that those hands looked like they did a lot more killing than coding.

“Very nice,” Jack purred, turning the arm to catch the light. “The latest Hyperion model, huh? You maintain it yourself?”

“I learned the basics,” Rhys said modestly. Fuck, Jack smelled good too, like power and money, both Rhys’ favourite things.

“An ECHOeye too.” Jack reached up and ran a finger lightly over Rhys’ data port. Rhys couldn’t help a little gasp; the touch was too intimate. “Must have cost you a bit. Why would a PA need top of the line cybernetic enhancements?”

A rookie might mistake the heat in Jack’s gaze for lust, but Rhys could see the fin lurking below the dark waters. He let his breath come a little quicker and looked up at Jack through his lashes. “Do you know how many people would give their right arm to work for you? I just took it a little further.” 

Jack held his gaze for a long moment, but Rhys didn’t flinch. At last Jack laughed and let go. “Yeah you did, cupcake. I admire that. Too many people lack initiative.” He sat back, a king on his throne as he watched Rhys straighten up and smooth down his clothes. His eyes lingered on the tattoos peeking above Rhys’ open collar. “Sweet cybernetics and legs for days. You hiding any more surprises under that sharp tailoring, babe?”

“Just a burning desire for you to review those documents. You don’t pay me enough to suck dick.”

“Shame,” Jack smirked. “And here I was hoping to collect on your frankly adorable hero worship.”

Rhys rolled his eyes though his heart skipped in his chest. “What makes you think you’re my hero?”

“Cuz I’m everybody’s hero, baby!” Jack spread his hands, grinning. “People freaking love me, and so they should. I single-handedly made Hyperion into the greatest company in the universe, and I alone am gonna tame that armpit of a planet they call Pandora, bring some fucking civilization to chaos.”

“By killing off the locals?” Rhys arched his brow. “By most definitions that would make you the bad guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack said. He rose slowly from his chair, and Rhys realised too late he was pinned between the desk and Handsome Jack, who was looking at him the way a tomcat looked at a mouse. Like he was deciding whether to play with him a little first before snapping his neck. Jack pressed forward until Rhys had to bend backward over the desk to maintain eye contact. There was barely a hair’s breadth between them. Rhys had an inch or two over the other man but Jack was probably 50 pounds heavier, and this close he was very broad and solid, blocking out the light until he was the only thing Rhys could see. Jack leaned in, hands on either side of Rhys’ hip. His eyes gleamed with something like violence. “What’s your name, sweetcheeks?”

“Rhys,” he said, one eye on the gun at Jack’s hip.

“So how bout it, Rhysie?” Jack said softly, barely an inch away from Rhys’ lips. “Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

Rhys let out a shuddering breath. “I think you’re Handsome goddamn Jack,” he said, and caught Jack in a hard kiss. Jack laughed into his mouth. His fingers wrapped tightly in Rhys’ hair as he shoved himself between Rhys’ spread thighs. Rhys moaned, caught halfway between terror and hot, aching arousal. Jack tugged his head back and scraped his teeth down Rhys’ neck, and hello, Rhys’ dick was suddenly very, very interested in the proceedings and gave no shits that the rest of him might not survive the encounter. 

“Good answer, cupcake,” Jack said in between bites at whatever exposed skin he could get at. “A PA with looks, brains and a complete willingness to spread his legs.” He made his point by sliding a thigh none-too-gently against Rhys’ dick. Rhys whimpered and grabbed Jack’s shoulders. “Aren’t I just the luckiest guy.” He gave Rhys another biting kiss, then pulled away, leaving Rhys a panting wreck sprawled across the desk.

“Wha--?” Rhys blinked up at him, brain short-circuited by the sudden shift.

“Much as I’d love to bend you over the desk and find out how far down that tattoo goes, daddy’s got work to do.” Jack sat back in his chair and called up half a dozen screens directly over Rhys. “Which means you’ve got work to do, so chop chop, kitten.”

Rhys scowled, but Jack just smirked at him, already halfway through the R&D report while simultaneously working on two other screens. And ok, yeah, competence was really hot, even if Jack was evil incarnate. It was tempting to take a few snaps with his ECHOeye, but Rhys felt very keenly that he was fortunate to escape the encounter unscathed. No need to keep pushing his luck.

He had to practically climb over Jack’s lap to extricate himself. His new boss helped him along with a slap on the ass. “Order up some food, cupcake. I gotta eat something other than sweet young souls for breakfast.”

 _What an asshole,_ Rhys thought, while his dick unhelpfully reminded him that the asshole in question was a great kisser. As he made his way to his own desk, Rhys thought that it was going to be such a pleasure to steal from Handsome Jack. And if he got to have a little fun along the way, then so much the better.

*

A week into the job, and Rhys had never worked so hard in his life. Juggling the President’s schedule, treading the shark infested corporate waters and keeping Jack happy meant he didn’t have time to scratch himself. _The whole point of a life of crime was not having to slave at a desk_ , he thought. But Rhys was a professional, and he could suffer a little short term pain for long term gain. Still, the work schedule was punishing. Every key department on Helios seemed to run on a 24 hour schedule, buzzing on adrenaline and one-upmanship. Jack himself hardly seemed to sleep, and apparently ran on caffeine and the terror of his underlings. 

Downtime became a thing of the past for Rhys. He hadn’t even had a chance to catch up with his lunch buddies, who had taken to harassing him via ECHOchat.

_Yvettawatchout: Hey Rhys, are you dead?_

_The_NeBromancer: He’s totally dead. Last week he screamed when a roach crawled over his foot. He’s got no chance against Handsome Jack._

_Yvettawatchout: Nah, I bet he’s busy climbing the totem pole. And by totem pole I mean HJ’s dick._

_The_NeBromancer: Hey Rhys, is it true he’s got a needle dick? I mean he’s totally compensating for something._

_Yvettawatchout: Yeah, the complete and total lack of a functioning soul._

_The_NeBromancer: You can’t die yet buddy, we need confirmation. Needledick: Y/N?_

_Rhy5_w1nz: I hate you both. So much._

_Yvettawatchout: That’s a yes._

Truth be told, Rhys had no idea what Handsome Jack’s deal was. Since their first encounter Jack had kept his hands to himself. He didn’t stop looking at Rhys like a fox prowling the hen house, and kept up the over-the-top pet names, but the closest Rhys had come to getting the fucking of his dreams was being fucked by Jack’s insane schedule. 

All the relevant experience on his file were, of course, lies, and Rhys bungled on average at least two things a day. Past evidence seemed to indicate that he was very close to being made to take a spacewalk sans suit, and the ECHOnet was buzzing with betting pools on how much longer Rhys had left to live. 

_The_NeBromancer: The odds are pretty good, bro. Not for you, but for my sweet payout if you croak in the next week._

_Rhy5_w1nz: You’re supposed to be on my side!_

_The_NeBromancer: Sorry buddy, I follow the smart bet. They don’t call me the Money Man for nothing._

_Yvettawatchout: Literally no one calls you that, Vaughn. Stop trying to make that a thing._

Rhys didn’t think he was close to death. Or at least no closer than anyone else who spent significant periods of time around Jack. A lifetime on Pandora had drilled into him good instincts for that kind of thing. And Jack, for his own reasons, seemed to tolerate Rhys’ less than professional approach to the PA life. Rhys liked to think it was his wits and great ass that the man admired, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jack was playing his own game.

Whatever the reason, getting the job hadn’t actually gotten him much closer to the score. He was almost never left alone in the office, Jack being the workaholic that he was, and Rhys wasn’t game to try anything with the man right there. He learned very quickly that Jack was much smarter than he let people assume. 

The softly softly approach wasn’t working fast enough. No matter how much Rhys sassed or pouted or bent over things in his tight pants, Jack just smirked and sent him on the corporate equivalent of a wild goose chase. At the end of each long work day, Rhys only had time to curse Jack’s gorgeous mug (and nice forearms, and broad shoulders, and..) as he fell into bed. 

Rhys preferred finesse. He left the shooting and explosions to his sisters, as everyone had agreed very early on that Rhys was useless with a weapon. But when it came to cyber intrusions he was a goddamn artist, preferring the lightest of touches, in and out like a ghost. But when push came to shove, he was not above a little brute force. This job was no different. He would just have to find the chink in Jack’s armour first. 

That night, after a disgruntled jerk off session thinking about the biggest jerk-off he knew, Rhys decided that he had to take the initiative. Jack had pretty much said as much on the first day. Tomorrow was the day Rhys was going to initiate operation Honey Trap Handsome Jackass. No one could blame him if he relished the idea a little too much. The best lies were based on truth, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Jack.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case of mistaken identity.

The ride up had not improved Timothy’s mood. Despite being a frequent flyer, he could never entirely ignore the fact that there was only a thin layer of metal between him and an eternity of falling through space. He cleaned his weapons as a distraction, and scrubbed the worst of the stains off himself, but a quick wash over a shuttle sink was a far cry from a proper clean. He longed for a shower and a soft bed to fall into, but he couldn’t rest yet. Jack would want to see him. 

The doors to Helios hissed open. The place smelled as always like coffee and murderous ambition. Tim took a deep breath and put on Handsome Jack like a coat. As he stalked down the corridors people gave him a wide berth, their eyes darting over his face and the coiled tension in his shoulders. 

His heart sped up at the sight of Jack’s office doors. Had Jack seen how hard he’d worked? Would he be happy with Tim’s efforts? It was always hard to predict Jack’s mood. He could be magnanimous one minute and casually cruel the next. Even after all these years Tim still dreaded that change, though he had gotten better at hiding it. And today could be the day that Jack was pleased with him, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Those little moments of Jack’s approval made everything else worthwhile. 

Tim braced himself as he pushed through the doors, but there was no sign of Jack. The rush of disappointment was almost overwhelming. Someone he had never seen before was standing by the desk. The first impressions were a series of snapshots to Tim's overtired brain: tall, expensive, a thief’s eyes in a baby face. Tim’s expression would have sent most men scurrying, but the stranger just arched his perfect brows. “Big night?” 

When in doubt, Tim defaulted to the state of ‘ _ what would Jack do? _ ’ He got right into the stranger’s personal space, squaring up for a fight. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

The stranger raised his hands--flesh and metal--placatingly. “Jesus, if you didn’t want breakfast in the office you could just say so.” Still no trace of fear even as his eyes swept the blood stains on Timothy’s clothes. Instead he quirked his mouth, cocky and self-assured. “I’m guessing some unfortunate soul caught you at a bad time? Let’s see if we can reset the tone.” He dropped his hands onto Tim’s chest--what the fuck--and-- _ oh _ \--caught Tim in an open-mouthed kiss. 

His exhausted brain stuttered and froze like a corrupted drive. This close the stranger’s face was a blur of smooth skin and dark lashes, subtle cologne, his mouth soft and wet. Tim should--do something. Push him off, break his arm, blow his brains out or lean in…

Abruptly the stranger drew back, something dawning on his face. “Wait, you’re not--”

“Warming him up for me, Timtam?”

That familiar voice jumped started Tim’s brain. He grabbed the stranger’s flesh arm and twisted, pinning him face first onto the desk (“Owowow!”) as he turned to see Jack. 

The President of Hyperion stood at the door, looking as always like a propagandist’s wet dream. His presence sucked all the air from the room in the way that Tim always tried so hard to get just right. There was a strange intensity to the way Jack looked at the two of them. 

“Jack!” The stranger squirmed under him. “What the hell--Ow, fuck!”

Tim shoved his bent arm higher until he gasped and stilled. “You know this guy?” he said to Jack.

“Easy now, cupcake.” Jack sauntered up, commanding all eyes like it was his birthright. “Rhysie here’s a peach, he bruises easy.” He dropped a hand on Tim’s neck, kneading at the tense muscles there. The pressure in Tim’s chest eased a little at the touch. 

Reluctantly, Tim let the stranger--Rhys--go and stepped back. Rhys shoved himself up indignantly, tugging at his clothes. He glared at them both, his ECHOeye flaring. “Real funny Jack, you could’ve at least warned me you had a body double running around.”

Men had been airlocked for less, but Jack just laughed. “Then I’d miss seeing you all flustered like this, kitten.” His hand dropped away, and Tim mourned the loss. “Relax babe, Timmy here’s all bark and no bite.” Jack pulled Rhys close and grinned. “Well, actually he’s a stone-cold killer, but don’t worry, he won’t touch a hair on your pretty head. Not unless I want him to.” 

Rhys kept up his glare until Jack tipped his chin with a proprietary hand, and then he melted into Jack’s kiss with a soft noise, and ok, even tired as he was Tim was getting the message. 

It was no news that Jack had lovers. More than once Tim had walked in on Jack taking his due right over the desk. They never lasted long--there was no one Jack loved more than himself, and the only thing that came a close second was his company. But Tim liked to think that Jack loved him, too, just a little bit. Tim was his mirror image, even if he was a little more tarnished than the real deal. The lovers came and went, but Jack had always kept Tim by his side. And that was enough. 

Jack broke away and settled a possessive arm around Rhys’ hip. “Timmy, meet my new PA. Rhys, you’ve already met my lesser half, Timothy Lawrence. You’ll have to excuse him; he hasn’t been properly socialised.”

Rhys gave him a head-to-toe scan like Tim was a strongbox and he was looking to jimmy the lock. “That’s...pretty remarkable. Even with you standing together I can barely tell the difference.”

“Carbon copy baby, accurate down to the last inch.” Jack waggled his eyebrows. 

“I’m sure,” Rhys said, rolling his eyes, and that was interesting. Tim was used to having people quiver in front of Jack. The defiant ones usually met with a quick and bloody end, but Jack seemed genuinely delighted by Rhys. 

There was something more going on here, but it had been a long month and Tim had no energy left to wonder. “Jack, can we talk?” 

Jack gave Rhys a pat on the ass. “Get outta here, kitten, the grownups need to work. And call up that useless sack of shit Quang in 10, I’ve got some questions for him.”

Rhys hummed in acknowledgement and made his way out. Tim’s stomach clenched as he watched Jack watching Rhys leave with something like hunger in his eyes. 

“Timmy, Timmy, c’mere.” Jack swept over, slinging an arm across Tim’s shoulders. From this close Jack could either kiss or sucker-punch him. Both possibilities were equally devastating. “Good job down there kiddo. The way you turned those bandit scum into meat paste,  _ man _ , I got a half-chub just watching.” Jack’s arm tightened, pulling Tim against his side. “Made me real nostalgic for the old days, ya know? One of these days we’ll head out together again, blow some shit up, have some real fun.”

Might as well get the worst part over with first. “I didn’t find anything about a vault key, Jack. Those camps were another dead end.”

Jack stilled, and Tim braced himself. He knew how important this was to Jack. After everything they had worked for, after all the trust Jack placed in him, and he had failed again. Jack’s arm was very heavy around his neck. Tim could feel his heart hammering in his chest, waiting for the storm to break.

But Jack was in a good mood today. After a beat he merely patted Tim’s cheek fondly. “It’s all right, champ. I know you did your best. We’ll keep looking, huh?”

His heart unclenched and Tim could breathe again. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He had to ask; he had to know. “Jack, that last camp...the school--”

“Oh yeah,” Jack pulled a face. “That’s some ugly shit. My intel guys told me it was a munitions factory. Remind me to throw them in the skag cages later.” He put his arms around Tim, solid and warm, more alive than anyone Tim had ever met. “Shame you had to deal with that, Timmy, but you did good. You did the right thing.”

It was good to hear those words. He hadn’t realised how much he needed the reassurance. Jack hadn’t known; Jack was pleased with him. All was right with the world. Tim pressed his face against Jack’s shoulder, just long enough to take a deep breath of the other man’s familiar scent. He did good, and he could allow himself this one thing. 

Jack chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Feeling lonely, cupcake? Want some company later?”

Tim stiffened, exposed like a raw nerve. “Jack--”

“Why don’t you hit up what’s her face, Tana, Lana, the one with the sweet D-cups you’ve been seeing?”

“Laura.” Tim pulled away, feeling like he’d just been doused in cold water. “It didn’t work out.” Laura had been lovely, actually, but every time she looked at him she had only seen Jack. They all did. He couldn’t blame them-- Handsome Jack was a bona fide hero and richer than god; Timothy Lawrence was a nobody. 

“Eh, plenty of bitches in the sea.” Jack pulled away and dropped into his chair, leaving Tim swaying on his feet. “Get cleaned up pumpkin. I know blood’s a good look on me, but you look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a rakk nest.” He called up half a dozen screens over his desk, and just like that Tim was forgotten. 

He let himself out, past the PA’s desk where Rhys was hassling someone on the phone like he had been born into the role. Those mismatched eyes scanned him again but Tim wasn’t in the mood to engage. He made his way toward the executive penthouses, every door along the way parting for him without prompting. There were some perks to being Jack’s attack dog. 

His rooms were near the very top of Helios, just one floor below Jack’s ostentatious suite. The place was done up in the usual Hyperion style, like the uber-rich had vomited platinum and gold all over the marble floors, but here and there Tim had made space for himself: his small collection of cacti drooping under their UV lights on the kitchen bench; the battered novels, titles he would be embarrassed to let anyone see, dog-eared and scattered over various flat surfaces; the odd soft grey t-shirt and sweatpants amongst the vast closet of Jack’s clothes. The place smelled stale, lifeless, but as the doors closed behind him Tim felt like he could finally breathe again. He sagged and thumped his head against the wall. Out there he had to be Jack, larger than life and the biggest, swingingest dick around, but here he could curl up, let himself be small. He toed off his boots and shuffled toward the bathroom, past the floor to ceiling windows that streamed in the glow of Elpis at all hours of the day. 

The lights in the bathroom were too bright, but at least the mirror was still set to display anonymous backdrops of alien landscapes; it was easier when he didn’t have Jack’s face looking back at him every time. He set the water as hot as he could stand and let it wash away the weeks of blood and dull, grinding horror. When he emerged, skin pink and new, he felt almost clean again. 

He fell into bed, groaning at the feel of fresh sheets. He could sink into the mattress and sleep for a year, but there was something he had to do first. Tim pulled up the employee files on his ECHOtab and found what he was looking for. 

Rhys Strongfork: 25, recently in data mining, a Hyperion employee for two years and on Helios for the last month. The medical files on his cybernetics were interesting, but otherwise everything else was unremarkable. How did a low level desk jockey catch Handsome Jack’s eye? Something didn’t feel right, but the weeks spent punishing his body on Pandora had caught up with him, demanding their due. Rhys would have to wait. 

As he slipped into a deep, restless sleep, the last thing Tim saw was the glow of an ECHOeye, and white teeth on wet lips. 

*

Given the choice, Tim would rather spend a solid week holed up in his rooms, getting reacquainted with peace, quiet, and his own dubious company. But Jack called him in the afternoon, startling him awake.

“Hey Timtam, I hope some hot young thing is giving you a proper hero’s welcome home right now, but I know you’re just moping alone. I’m hosting a thing tonight for the ingrates I call employees. Apparently morale’s been low since I floated a few too many desk monkeys. You coming?”

Tim wiped a hand over his face. He couldn’t think of anything less appealing right now, but he knew better than to refuse. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“That’s my man! Come with your happy face on and make an effort, for Christ’s sake. We’ll find you some eager beaver who’s keen to get on that dick. Hey, maybe we should make that the door prize, huh? One night with your very own imitation hero of Hyperion, satisfaction guaranteed.”

Tim ground the heel of his hand into his eyes. Dealing with the feral wildlife on Pandora was preferable to this. “Jack, please.”

Jack laughed. “I’m just fucking with you, kiddo. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Tim wondered idly what Jack’s idea of being good entailed. The possibilities were frightening.

Jack needled him a little more before ending the call. Tim’s world grew a little smaller without Handsome Jack in it.

Tim spent an hour dutifully going through his usual workout routine, stretching aching muscles and searching for the inner calm that was increasingly hard to find these days. Then he ate a late breakfast while checking his collection of cacti. Most of these he had picked up on his trips down to Pandora. They reminded him of his mother’s sparse garden, a memory from another lifetime.

Most of the plants had survived his latest trip relatively unscathed. Tim carefully picked through the pots, discarding the fallen spines and turning plants here and there to better catch the light. His ungelled hair kept falling into his eyes as he worked. He would need a haircut soon; Jack had very exacting standards for how Tim should present himself. 

He spent the rest of his spare time on the couch, thumbing through a well-read novel. It had an improbable story involving a taciturn hero rescuing a beautiful damsel from circumstances of her own making. There was a lot of purple prose and heaving bosoms. It was also one of his favourite guilty pleasures. 

When he couldn’t avoid it any longer, Tim put down his book and rose to get dressed. He could only hope that the other attendees tonight would hit the open bar hard enough for him to sneak out early. 

*

He arrived a little late, not enough to test Jack’s patience but enough to appease his own eroding sense of autonomy. The party was in full swing, hundreds of people carousing, shouting over the thumping music. There was an undercurrent of manic relief at having survived another day on Helios.

Jack was holding court with the board members. Even the President of Hyperion had obligations to his shareholders. Jack caught his eye, glanced meaningfully at his watch and gave him a wink, like he knew exactly what Tim was trying to do. Then he turned his attention back to the people around him and Tim was forgotten. Tim wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or relieved.

He found himself a relatively quiet corner and nursed a drink. He was ostensibly on duty as part of Jack’s security, but no one was crazy enough to take on the king in his own domain. Anyone who tried would be reduced to pink mist by the smart turrets and loader bots at Jack’s disposal. 

He examined the crowd with a critical eye and tried to recall why he had wanted so badly to come back. He might not have to shoot anyone up here, but the constant political machinations and jockeying for power left a bad taste in his mouth. At least the people on Pandora had the decency of not pretending to like him as they tried to kill him. 

A flash of metal in the crowd caught his eye. He followed the cybernetic arm up to the narrow shoulders, along the slim neck to the deceptively sweet face. Rhys was a peacock in his expensive suit, laughing at something his friends said. He had the corporate shark look endemic to Helios, but there was something of the outsider about him. As an outsider himself, Tim recognised it with a pang. 

As if sensing the weight of his regard, Rhys looked his way, then excused himself and started making his way over. Shit. Tim straightened up from his slouch, trying to pretend he hadn’t just been caught staring. Judging by the grin on Rhys’ face, he hadn’t been very successful. 

“So this morning was pretty wild, huh?” Rhys said casually, like he would to an old friend. He carried an aggressively pink drink with a little paper umbrella in it. 

Tim took a sip of his own drink to buy some time. He tried to think of something interesting to say. “Hi.”  _ Fuck _ .

Rhys raised his glass in a wry toast. “Hi. Um, do you prefer Timothy or Tim?” Tim’s heart lurched, but nothing must show on his face as Rhys continued, oblivious. “Oh, should I be calling you Jack? Is that just in public? I guess it makes sense but it’s weird…”

Tim cleared his throat. “Just Tim is fine,” he said, surprised at how steady his voice was. No one but Jack ever called him by his real name. They would see the face he wore and forget, or they never bothered to ask in the first place. 

Rhys grinned, smooth cheeks dimpling. “Well Tim, just so you know, I don’t normally kiss someone before I even know their name so, ah, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said, distracted by the way Rhys’ eyes crinkled. “You smelled nice.” By the time his brain caught up to his mouth it was too late. Tim froze, heat racing up his neck and sweeping over his face.

Rhys bit his lip, the corners of his mouth trembling with mirth. “Thanks for the feedback,” he said, raising an eyebrow. When Tim could only stammer over an apology Rhys tipped his head back and laughed. “Holy shit, I don’t think anyone has ever seen Handsome Jack blush before!”

Whatever warmth creeping through him dropped away like a stone. “I’m not Handsome Jack.”

Rhys’ smile fell away. “Right. Sorry,” he said, looking like he meant it. “It’s just, you know.” He gestured vaguely at Tim.

“Yeah, I know.” Tim cleared his throat. “Sorry about being so rough this morning. I don’t meet a lot of new people.”  _ At least not for very long _ , but that seemed a little morbid to say out loud. “Is your arm okay?”

Rhys waved off his concern. “I’m tougher than I look.” The claim was a little dubious. Rhys might be tall, but he looked like he had never been in a real fight his whole life. Tim was just the tiniest bit envious about that.

“So,” Rhys said, dragging out the vowel. “How does someone end up as a doppelganger anyway?”

“It’s a long story.” Tim didn’t like thinking about what life was like before Jack found him, when he was still one hundred-percent Timothy Lawrence: awkward, loser, voted most likely to die a virgin by his classmates. Every day was the same as he sleep-walked his way through college, racking up a student debt he could never hope to pay off but too gutless to admit he wasn’t good enough to graduate. 

And then Jack had come along like an avalanche, uprooting his life and wiping away everything familiar until he was the only thing Tim had left. Jack had put a gun in his hand, and Tim discovered that while he still felt like a loser, he was also a very, very good shot.

_ Atta boy, _ Jack had said. _ I knew you were a winner soon as I looked at you. _

It was hopeless from the start. No one had ever looked at Tim the way Jack looked at him, like he could see past the fear and ugliness, right to the core of him. Jack looked at him like he liked what he saw. 

Then there had been the accident, and everything that came after that. When they took the bandages off Tim’s face, Jack had looked at him like he was in love. 

“Seems like it,” Rhys said. “You’ll have to tell it to me sometime.”

Tim realised that he had been silent too long. He wasn’t sure what was showing on his face, only that it was enough to make Rhys look away. God it was agonising how awful he was at small talk. It was a miracle Rhys hadn’t made an excuse to leave yet. Tim took a long gulp of his drink, hoping to drown the embarrassment he could feel working its way up his neck.

“Despite how it looks, I didn’t actually suck dick to get this job,” Rhys said casually, like he was talking about the weather.

Tim choked, eyes watering as alcohol burned up his sinuses. He coughed into his fist, trying to maintain his composure as people started looking their way. He was working right now and Jack would not appreciate Tim making him look bad. “I never--” he coughed, then tried again. “I never said you did.”

“No, but you were thinking it.” Rhys took a sip of his own drink, effortlessly cool in comparison. “I don’t blame you, everyone else thinks so too.”

Tim really hadn’t been thinking it, but now the image came unbidden: Rhys on his knees, cheeks flush, eyes hooded, skin pale against Jack’s tan. He cleared his throat. “Well, whatever you’re doing seems to be working. Jack’s not an easy man to please.”

Rhys hummed. “I don’t know if ‘pleased’ is the right word. Sometimes I think he’s keeping me around for his own private joke. Not sure if I’m going to enjoy the punchline.”

There was a feeling Tim knew well. He had been with Jack a long time--a lifetime--but he could hardly say he knew what went through Jack’s head most days. He only knew for certain when he had done good by Jack’s measure, and when he had fucked up. But while Jack wielded his rage like a weapon, and relished turning it on others, he never laid a violent finger on Tim. Tim almost wished he would sometimes. He had a high pain threshold and he healed fast, but Jack’s disappointment in him never failed to strip him to the bone.

“Hey, Jack’s looking over.” Rhys leaned in conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He wore the same cologne he had on this morning. “What do you think he’ll do if we made out, just for a bit? I think he enjoyed the show this morning.”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. Sure enough, Jack was watching them over the rim of his glass. From this distance it was hard to make out his expression, but a shiver ran down Tim’s back anyway. 

“I can’t tell if he’s turned on or pissed off,” Rhys whispered. “Maybe he’s both.” 

He was very close. If Tim leaned in a little his cheek would brush against those shell pink lips. “Word of advice,” he said. “Don’t poke the bear. You might not like the consequences.”

Rhys smiled like Tim had said something funny. “Good advice, but life’s too short not to take a few risks.” He clinked their glasses together and downed his drink, then gave Tim a friendly bump with his shoulder like it was no big thing for anyone to touch him so casually. “Nice chatting with you, Tim, try not to let me jump you by mistake next time.”

Tim watched him walk away, all easy confidence and cheer, and tried to recall the last time he had such a long conversation with anyone other than Jack. Jack hadn’t been wrong when he called Tim poorly socialised. The digijacks and people who shot at him hardly qualified as polite company. There was a warm feeling in his chest, and after some examination Tim realised he had started enjoying himself after all. Rhys was friendly, had a sense of humour, and didn’t seem to care about Tim’s face. It was a shame he wouldn’t be around long. Jack burned bright and hot, and those who were drawn to his light rarely survived the inferno. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys takes a risk, and pays the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns its rating. Warning: dubcon.

Timothy Lawrence was the chink in Jack’s armour. That much was apparent to Rhys. The double’s appearance was unexpected, and had an unexpected effect on Jack.

All day Jack had been dialled up to eleven: he yelled at underlings more, worked himself and everyone around him harder, and every time they were alone Jack was at him like a dog at a bone, pawing and teasing until he left Rhys a panting, frustrated wreck. It was almost like he was proving a point, as if anyone could forget which of the two was the real Handsome Jack.

As for Tim, he was not what Rhys would have expected from someone who played his role so well. In the public eye he was Handsome Jack personified, all swagger and sneering confidence, but just now in the relative privacy of their little corner he had been more subdued, almost shy. It was amazing how different two identical men could be, though Rhys supposed surgery only went skin deep. 

Back with his friends and a fresh drink in hand, Rhys watched out of the corner of his eye as Jack gravitated toward the man who wore his face, standing too close to say something in his double’s ear. Tim had his head down, shoulders drawn in, making himself look small. 

There was something off about their dynamic, beyond the weirdness of sharing the same face and body. Jack was very handsy with his double in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else, and it had an obvious effect on Tim, who looked at this moment the same way he had looked this morning: halfway between dazed and overwhelmed.

Timothy Lawrence was the key to success. Rhys felt it as surely as his faith in himself. Whatever the double might be to Jack, he was something Rhys could leverage. 

“God, that never stops being weird,” Vaughn said, following Rhys’ gaze. “Trust Handsome Jack to be vain enough to make two of himself. Most people just make do with a mirror.”

Yvette peered at the pair over her glasses. “How badly do you think someone has to fuck up to sign on as a double for Handsome Jack?”

“Like, at least ‘shot up a bus full of nuns’ bad,” said Vaughn.

Rhys shrugged. “Tim’s nice.”

His friends gawped at him. “You’re on a first name basis with that guy?”

“We’ve already made out, so yeah.”

“My god Rhys, you’re such a dangerslut,’ Yvette said reverently. “Teach me your ways.”

“First: you have to be devastatingly attractive and, like, super smart. Second: you have to be me.” Rhys checked the time and surveyed the crowd with a critical eye. The open bar had been very popular, and despite it being a work night everyone was well on their way to a very rough morning. “Hey, sorry but I gotta run, I’ll see you nerds later?”

Vaughn’s face fell. “It’s still early, bro, we were gonna do shots!”

“I bet he’s just running off to furiously masturbate to the possibility of sucking up to two Handsome Jacks at once.” Yvette said, then called out over the music, “Don’t strain anything Rhys, we need those noodle arms of yours to help me move next week.”

Rhys flipped them off with a grin and walked away. 

The corridors of Helios were unusually deserted for the hour. Hyperion employees really took the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality to heart, and there was plenty of booze still flowing behind the bar. With Jack and everyone else occupied, there couldn’t be a better time for Rhys to try his luck.

No one stopped him as he made his way to Jack’s office. Even if anyone noticed him, there was nothing unusual about the President’s PA working overtime. Breathless with anticipation, Rhys scanned through the doors and stepped inside.

Without Jack, the place felt like a mausoleum, all lifeless echoing space. Rhys’ boots tapped over the marble floors as he made his slow way to Jack’s desk, ECHOeye scanning for cameras and finding nothing. That in itself was more disturbing than the alternative: it implied that sometimes things happened in here that Jack didn’t want on the record. 

He crept up to the desk and, after only a second’s hesitation, sat down in Jack’s chair. The leather was buttery soft and smelled faintly of Jack’s cologne. Rhys took a deep breath and called up Jack’s ECHOnet account. 

_Password_ , the screen beckoned in its eerie blue glow.

Showtime. His ECHOeye pulled up the guts of the interface, scanning for a way in. All he needed was the smallest crack. The security was good, but nothing he couldn’t break with a little finesse. But just as his fingers touched the keyboard he caught a tiny discrepancy in the code. It was barely there, a grain of sand on a vast beach of data, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He followed the discrepancy deeper, diving into the code, tracing the breadcrumbs until he found it. 

The interface was a decoy, a sophisticated honeypot. Any attempts to hack the system would trigger a cascade of flags which would no doubt alert Hyperion’s security and patch directly to Handsome Jack’s personal ECHO device. It was a beautiful work of code. Given a few hours to pick at it Rhys would be able to undo the Gordian knot, but he didn’t have that kind of time right now, and any brute force attempt would give him approximately 30 seconds before Jack burst in and riddled him with bullets. 

Rhys dismissed the screen and pushed away from the desk. He had taken a snap of the code with his ECHOeye and could work on it at his leisure. It was early days yet. He had another four months before he was due to deliver the goods to Atlas. No need to rush things and put himself in unnecessary danger. 

He briskly made for the door, trying not to look at the busts of Jack which seemed like they were staring a hole in his back. There would be some very uncomfortable questions if he was caught here at this hour. 

He palmed the security panel, and the doors opened directly to Jack’s masked face.

“Working late, princess?” Jack’s eyes glittered like knives in a dark alley.

Adrenaline shot down Rhys’ spine. Fear sweat prickled along his hairline. But he was a professional. “Christ, Jack, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he laughed lightly, proud that his voice didn’t wobble. “Is the party finished already?”

Jack took a step forward, and Rhys could either move or be pressed up against that broad chest. He stepped back. 

“The party’s still swinging, gorgeous, which made me real curious as to why my PA would leave so early.” Jack spoke softly, a stark contrast to his usual obnoxious volume. Rhys backed away as he took another step forward. “I thought maybe you were getting lucky, I saw the way Timtam was looking at you. But you left the poor guy hanging.” The doors hissed closed, shutting them in the office. Jack reached out without looking and locked them in. He had eyes only for Rhys. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, sweetcheeks.”

Rhys took a short, stuttering breath. Jack smelled like whisky and violence. “I was checking the schedule for the morning. I moved Roberts from munitions for Jacobson down in accounts, and I wanted to make sure the calendar was right.”

“So diligent. I love people who take their work seriously.” Jack was still moving forward, still speaking softly. “If I check your ECHOlog playback, is that what I’m going to see?” He tapped lightly at Rhys' data port, making him flinch. He was smiling, but his eyes were stone cold.

Rhys swallowed. He had left his stun baton back in his room, not that having it here would make any difference. He had watched the propaganda films; he knew what Handsome Jack could do with his bare hands. He took another step back and fetched up against Jack’s desk. He caught himself with his hands and forced himself to relax. Forced himself to tilt his head back, putting his long neck on display. “Is that the only thing you want to check, boss?” he said, eyes hooded, and eased his thighs open. He prayed that in the dark Jack would mistake his slight trembling for arousal. 

Jack swayed gently, and his eyes drifted to the stretch of Rhys’ throat. He put his hands on Rhys’ thighs, those big fingers gripping hot and tight through the fabric of his pants. He leaned in, an echo of their first meeting in this office, over this desk. “Changed your mind about sucking dick, kitten?”

Rhys would happily suck a dozen dicks to be anywhere else but here. If sucking one dick meant he didn’t die tonight, then so be it. He hooked a leg around Jack and reeled him in until they were pressed hip to hip. Jack wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was well on his way. “I don’t plan to be a PA forever,” he said, heart pounding. “Gotta do what I can for that promotion.”

Jack laughed, low and filthy. When Rhys leaned in for a kiss he took a hard grip of Rhys’ hair, holding him back. “Uh-uh, cupcake, not what daddy’s in the mood for tonight.” He leaned back and shoved down. Rhys sank obediently to his knees. 

With shaking fingers he unbuckled Jack’s belt. He tried not to look at the gun strapped to Jack’s thigh. As he tugged down Jack’s pants he had a fleeting, hysterical thought: _Confirmed, not a needledick._

Jack laughed again as Rhys swallowed his cock. “Oh yeah, that’s much better.” He braced one hand on the desk and pushed the other into Rhys’ hair, holding him in place. Rhys relaxed his throat and tried to set a rhythm against Jack’s tight grip. He never realised how much terror felt like arousal, or maybe he was just particularly fucked up, but the way Jack barely let him snatch a breath before pushing deep again was making his blood buzz. Maybe it’s sheer relief at not being dead, or perhaps this was not so different from his many fantasies about Jack. Whatever it was, Rhys found himself gripping Jack’s thighs as he tried to swallow as much as he could, his own dick throbbing painfully in his pants. When Jack’s cock shoved to the back of his throat Rhys moaned and looked up at him, eyes watering. 

“That’s a good look on you, kitten,” Jack said in between thrusts. “Nice to see that mouth isn’t just for causing trouble. Did you give Timmy a good taste this morning, hmm? Be careful you don’t give him the wrong idea. Poor kid will fall for anyone who gives him a little attention.” He gripped Rhys’ head and shoved until he was buried all the way. Rhys’ throat spasmed around the hot flesh, and as he started to run out of air he struggled against Jack’s bulk, gulping uselessly. It felt like an eternity before Jack let him go and he fell back, coughing. The rush of air was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. 

Jack hauled him up and threw him face down over the desk. Rhys braced himself on his hands and yelped as Jack shoved his pants down. Cold air brushed over his bare ass and balls. His dick was still achingly hard, too dumb to know better. 

“How did a beanpole like you end up with such a peach, hmm?” Jack ran a proprietary hand over his ass, then gave him a ringing slap, and fuck, that felt so good. After spending the whole day being pawed at by his number one crush, Rhys was about ready to burst. His brush with death had only sweetened the deal. Rhys arched into Jack’s hand even as he glowered over his shoulder. 

“Are we gonna fuck or are you just gonna talk me to death?”

“Oh,” Jack laughed, delighted. “Just you wait, babe. I’m going to ruin you.” He reached over Rhys--of course he kept lube at his desk, the asshole--popped the cap and pushed two slick fingers inside him. Rhys choked out a moan, the burn just this side of unpleasant. Jack stretched him roughly, his other hand shoving up Rhys’ top until he was bared from chest to knees, entirely at Jack’s dubious mercy. Rhys gasped as those fingers pulled away and the hot, blunt tip of Jack’s cock pressed against his hole. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready, but Jack gave him no time to prepare before he was pushing his way in, leaning his whole weight into it, holding Rhys in place so he could do nothing else but open up for Jack’s cock.

Rhys wailed as he was pierced, rising onto the tips of his toes. The stretch was rough and agonisingly good, lighting him up like tinder. He clawed at the desk as Jack’s hips came to rest against his ass, then sobbed as Jack immediately set a punishing pace. Every thrust sawed over his prostate and he shook under the onslaught. Jack lifted Rhys’ left leg onto the desk, leaving him wide open, skewered like a bug on a pin. He had no leverage like this, Jack’s weight on his back and his own dripping dick trapped under his belly. He could dimly make out Jack’s litany of filth over the roaring of blood in his ears: “So tight, kitten, yeah, make that noise again, fuck--”

 _Slow down_ , he wanted to say, _please, it hurts; it’s so good, don’t stop_. But Jack’s hand was wrapping around his throat and Rhys could only gasp, light sparking behind his eyes as all the air stayed trapped in his lungs. He clawed at Jack’s grip, straining, his body juddering as Jack fucked him. Black spots danced in his teary vision. When Jack finally let go Rhys sucked in a desperate breath and came with a hoarse, echoing cry.

Jack grunted and gave a final few shoves before coming inside him. He draped heavily over Rhys, panting, then patted his side the way he would a horse after a particularly invigorating ride. Rhys whimpered as he pulled out. Cold air hit his sweat-smeared skin, but he couldn’t make himself move, not yet. Breathing was still a luxury and he focussed on the in-out rush of oxygen, head spinning. 

He flinched as Jack’s hand touched his face, but the other man only shushed him gently as a thumb swiped over his wet cheek. 

“There we go, kitten, you did so good, I’m proud of you.” Jack eased him up and pulled him close, murmuring into his ear as he soothed his hands down Rhys’ sides. Whatever violence that always sparked under Jack’s skin had been banked. Rhys stood in his gentle grasp and trembled. 

He survived. Jack had caught him in a bare-faced lie and he had gotten away with it. Giddy with relief, Rhys let himself be pulled into a kiss. Jack was unusually indulgent, softly tasting him even as his hand slid down the swell of Rhys’ ass, dipping a finger inside. Rhys squirmed, growing uncomfortable with the fading of the afterglow. He was going to be sore tomorrow, but it was nothing he hadn’t asked for. 

Jack drew away with a low chuckle and moved to make himself a drink. The clink of ice dropping into the glass was very loud. With shaking hands Rhys put himself back together, wincing at the mess he was making of his pants. Jack watched him over the rim of his glass, face half in shadow. 

Rhys cleared his throat. What could you say to your boss right after he gave you the fucking of your life? “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“For the meeting with Roberts.”

Rhys barely paused. “Jacobson, in accounting. She’s the first one of the day.”

“Right,” Jack said, his smile like a knife. “Sleep tight, kitten.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Timothy became Handsome Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild body horror.

Rhys lived in the so-called ‘bachelor pits’, a dense stack of identical units in the bowels of Helios popular with Hyperion’s time-poor and unattached worker bees. The narrow corridors were lined with company issued motivational posters, mostly of Handsome Jack in a variety of heroic poses. A couple had been defaced with crudely drawn genitalia.

Tim shifted the giant bouquet of flowers in his arms and wished he was somewhere else. He hated this part of the job, almost as much as getting shot at. But Jack had given him very clear instructions, and Tim couldn’t rightly refuse.

He found Rhys’ door, double checked he had the right address, then knocked. At the sound of approaching footsteps he plastered on a trademark Handsome Jack smirk.

“Morning pumpkin,” he said as the door opened. “Sorry about last night. Whaddaya say I make it up to you with dinner and a stupidly expensive bottle of wine?” 

Rhys, or what Tim could see of him over the top of the spray of flowers, looked momentarily startled, then annoyed. “What do you want, Tim?”

“Uh,” Tim said, his script suddenly gone out the window. “How did you know it was me?”

“Because Handsome Jack seems like the kind of guy who would totally pay someone else to apologize for him.” Rhys massaged the bridge of his nose. “God, it’s too early for this shit.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you alone, but can you at least take the flowers so I can tell Jack it’s done?”

Those mismatched eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you what you’re supposed to be apologising for?”

Tim shrugged. He didn’t ask questions, and Jack never volunteered any information beyond the basics. Besides, he figured Jack was always liable to have done something worth apologising for. 

Rhys still looked like he was seriously considering slamming the door in his face, but before he could, another door further down the hall opened. The face that peered out paled as Tim glared at it, and the door slammed shut again.

Rhys sighed. “Great, now Mitch the Motormouth knows you’re here. You might as well come in. I’m just getting ready for work, we can head back up together.” He took the bouquet from Tim and walked into the apartment, leaving the door open. After a moment’s hesitation Tim stepped inside. It seemed like the better option than waiting in the corridors. 

Rhys dumped the flowers into the garbage as he walked past the kitchen. “You know your boss is an asshole, right?”

“Our boss,” Tim said absently as he looked around the room. The windowless studio was only big enough for a small kitchen, bedroom suite, and a single chair. He supposed worker bees were discouraged from socialising at home since it ate into precious productivity time. Everything was in standard issue Hyperion colours. Apart from a (frankly disturbing) number of Handsome Jack posters, the only personal item he could see was a small framed photograph on the bedside table. The overall effect was surprisingly utilitarian for someone as flamboyant as Rhys. It was like he had only just moved in, or perhaps he didn’t intend to stay for very long.

“I’d offer you a coffee but I’m all out,” Rhys said. Tim had clearly caught him in the middle of his morning ritual: he had on his work clothes but no shoes, and his hair was ungelled, falling in soft waves around his face. 

_Oh_ , Tim thought faintly. “That’s fine.” 

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a sec,” Rhys said over his shoulder as he stepped through to the small bathroom. He had on rainbow socks with clouds on the heels. 

Tim looked for a place to sit, but the chair was doubling as a washing basket, and the bed was too intimate. He picked up the photo for something to do as Rhys clattered in the next room.

The two women in it were caught in a candid moment, grinning broadly with their arms slung around Rhys. Both were pretty in their own way, and both looked different enough from each other and Rhys that it was hard to pinpoint the nature of their relationship.

“My sisters.” Rhys had re-emerged, hair now perfectly gelled. “Our parents adopted us when we were all kids. They’re back on Eden right now questioning my choices in working for an evil megacorp.”

“What’s Eden like?” Tim had never visited. There hadn’t yet been anyone Jack needed killing there.

“Oh you know, idyllic and boring. We had white picket fences and a brown dog.” Rhys shoved his feet into a pair of ugly boots, then straightened up and held out his arms. “How do I look?”

“Great,” Tim said with sincerity.

Rhys grinned. “All right Mr Smooth Talker, let’s roll.”

The people they passed on the way scurried past with their heads down, practically crossing themselves. Rhys winked and waggled his fingers at them like he had just been crowned belle of the ball, like he strolled through these dingy corridors with the President of Hyperion on the regular. Tim struggled to keep a stern face on. When they arrived at the elevators, the people inside took one look at Tim and emptied out. 

Rhys whistled as they stepped inside. “Man, I should bring you along to the clubs. It’ll be VIP service and free champagne all night. No more queues for this chump.”

“I don’t dance,” Tim said severely, then let out a small grin when Rhys looked at him sideways. 

“Huh, and I bet you brush three times a day and are in bed by eight,” Rhys laughed. “Tim Lawrence, you dark horse.”

It was nice, his gentle teasing. It was even nicer to hear Rhys say his name. Tim thought with cautious optimism that he could get used to having a friend. 

Rhys jabbed the button for the executive floor, and they watched the numbers rush past as they rose up in the world. “So what’s the deal with Jack’s mask?” Rhys asked. “There’s all sorts of wild rumours floating around this place. My favourite so far is the one where he tried to fuck a skag.”

“You know, for someone with so many posters of Jack, you don’t seem to like him very much.”

“I’m capable of staying objective about my heroes.”

Tim wondered what that must be like. He didn’t think he had ever been objective about Jack. “He doesn’t talk about it much. Jack copped a grenade to the face while vault hunting down on Pandora. He’s alive thanks to his shields, but there was apparently a lot of shrapnel damage.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Rhys this. Jack would definitely not appreciate Tim blabbing his mouth, but there was something about Rhys that made it easy for him to open up.

Rhys hummed. “That must’ve been tough for someone as vain as Jack.” The doors dinged open, and Tim followed as he made his way confidently forward. “You know that vaults are bullshit, right? No one down there really believes that quasi-religious mumbo-jumbo.”

Tim raised his eyebrow. “What would you know about Pandora and vaults, Mr ‘Idyllic Childhood on Eden’?”

Rhys smiled, smooth as glass. “Everybody who knows anything about Handsome Jack knows about his boner for vaults.”

It wasn’t exactly an answer, and something in the way Rhys looked right now pinged Tim’s bullshit meter. 

Everyone on Helios had their own agenda. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Rhys was playing his own game. What was worrying was the fact that few people were foolhardy enough to try it around Jack. For all that the President of Hyperion relished and outright encouraged what he called ‘a little healthy competition’ amongst his staff, he did not tolerate any perceived disloyalty. Tim could only hope that Rhys knew what he was doing. 

Despite the early hour Jack was already at his desk. He looked up at their entrance, and didn’t seem at all fazed to have been caught out. Instead he sat back in his chair and smiled like an oil slick. “Well if it isn’t my two favourite employees. I hope Timmy here was sufficiently apologetic on my behalf, cupcake. He does a great grovel.”

The words stung a little, but it was no worse than Jack’s usual needling. 

Rhys glowered. “Sending an innocent party to do your dirty work is a real dick move, Jack.”

Jack only snorted. “It’s what I pay him for, and Timtam’s hardly an innocent. Besides, I didn’t hear any complaints about my dick moves last night, pumpkin.”

Tim thought he saw a flash of tightness to Rhys’ smile, though it was gone as quick as it came. Rhys looked around the office. “Jacobson’s late. Doesn’t she know it’s a poor life choice to keep you waiting?”

“I cancelled.” Jack rose and came around the desk, moving like a big cat. Rhys watched him warily, and there was definitely a tension in the way he held himself. Tim could empathise. It was wise to be on guard around Jack, no matter his mood. Jack took Rhys’ face in his hands and kissed him deeply, his tongue flashing wet and obscene. Tim averted his gaze, neck hot with embarrassment as Rhys made a soft, melting noise. He wanted to leave, but Jack hadn’t yet said he could. 

“I wanted you all to myself this morning, kitten,” Jack said, voice low and husky. “The number crunchers can wait ‘til after breakfast.” He kissed his way along Rhys’ neck, hands sliding down to grip at Rhys’ ass. 

Rhys arched up into him, baring his throat. “Jack,” he said breathily, hands gripping at Jack’s arms. “I know you love an audience, but I’d appreciate some privacy right about now.”

Jack gave his neck a lingering suck before looking up. There was a vicious kind of amusement in his gaze as he stared Tim down. “Hmm, yeah, guess we wouldn’t want to sully poor Timtam’s innocent gaze, huh?” He tipped his head meaningfully at the door. “Scram, pumpkin, I’ll call you when I’m done with Rhysie here.”

Rhys mouthed ‘sorry’ at him as Tim fled. Jack’s low, rumbling laugh chased him out the door.

*

If it was strange being friends with someone who regularly went to bed with his better half, it was no stranger than anything else that had happened in Tim’s life. The art of surviving Handsome Jack was being adaptable, and if nothing else Tim was a survivor. 

It became a kind of new normal. Rhys seemed to temper the worst of Jack’s moods, and did an admirable job of knowing when to push him and when to submit. As a result, Jack spent most days pleased as a cat that got the cream. Without Handsome Jack’s usual wrecking ball style of management, employee morale was up, productivity increased, and a breathless sort of calm settled over the corridors of Helios. 

But that kind of equilibrium was not easy to sustain. Over the weeks Rhys seemed to lose a little of his smooth polish, chipped away by Jack’s hard edges. He always had a quick smile for Tim, but there was a new wariness to him, like a prey animal moving through the open grass, poised for flight. 

Sometimes he winced if he moved too quickly in the wrong way, or touched compulsively at the bruises peeking above his collar. But that was none of Tim’s business, and he tried not to think about it.

*

It was not unusual for Jack to make his lightning visits to Pandora. The development of Opportunity was at a critical stage, and Jack did not trust anyone but himself to oversee the progress. Usually Tim would be right there with him. Jack liked to have Tim at his heel, as a reminder for anyone who was contemplating disloyalty that they were never very far away from a messy end. “A healthy fear of death is the best motivator, Timmy.”

But this time Jack had a different request. “Hey pumpkin, I need you to play delivery boy for me.” Jack’s voice was crackly, distorted by distance and space static. “I’ve been here an hour and these morons are already making my trigger finger itchy. Fetch Rhys for me and see that he gets here in one piece, will ya? Daddy needs a little stress relief.”

The idea of Rhys on Pandora made him uneasy. The place was a far cry from what Rhys would be used to growing up in Eden, and the treacherous halls of Helios was child’s play compared to all the horrible ways someone could die in those vast desert wastelands. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Jack? I don’t think Rhys has ever fired a gun in his life.”

“That’s what you’re for, dumdum. If anyone tries to make skin pizza out of him just rip their arms off, you’re real cute when you do that.” Jack had made up his mind, and nothing would deter him. 

Despite his reservations, Tim turned up to the shuttle station at the appointed time. Rhys was already there, looking down at the curve of Pandora with too much excitement and not nearly enough apprehension. He had on his usual fine clothes and those impractical boots, completely inappropriate for the harsh conditions they were about to encounter. He would stick out like a sore thumb down there. There was practically a bullseye on his forehead. 

Great. Tim sighed internally and double checked his weapons. He could already tell this was going to be a bad idea. 

“Hey!” Rhys waved at the sight of him, his face lighting up in a way that made Tim’s heart skip a beat. It was still a novelty to have someone be happy to see him. “I can’t believe I finally get to visit Pandora. I’ve heard so much about it. Dangerous animals, cannibal tribes, god, do you think we’ll get into a gunfight?” Rhys looked positively ecstatic at the thought.

This was definitely a terrible idea.

As the shuttle broke off from Helios Tim’s stomach lurched with the usual apprehension. God, he hated to fly. He swallowed against the bitter taste of fear and tried not to look out the windows. 

Rhys on the other hand was practically bouncing in his seat, nose pressed against the glass like a kid on his first space flight. Whatever shadow that had crept over him in the past few weeks had dissipated. Instead he was luminous with joy, glowing in Elpis’ strange light. “The stars look so close like this,” he breathed, face soft with wonder. His eyes shone with reflected light. His lashes were very dark. It was a nice distraction. “I’d love to go for a spacewalk one time, I’ve heard the low gravity on Elpis is incredible.”

Tim grunted, trying to breathe evenly through his mouth. 

Rhys looked around at him, brows drawn together. “You okay there?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Yeah, just. Not a fan of heights.” He had never admitted it to anyone before, but it seemed he had no defences around Rhys. 

Rhys looked surprised. “I didn’t think a badass like you would have any fears.” The idea was so laughable Tim could choke. He was built out of fear and self doubt, bound together with spit and moulded by Jack’s hands. He grimaced and rubbed a hand over his mouth. 

“I know,” Rhys clapped his hands together. He came over and sat beside Tim, close enough for their shoulders to brush together. “What you need is a distraction. How about you tell me a story? I still need to hear how you became Jack’s doppelganger.”

Tim shook his head. “Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“We got nothing but time here, Tim, come on.” Rhys waggled his brows, grinning. “Dish already, you’re killing me with this whole man-of-mystery routine.”

Tim chewed his lip, but Rhys was waiting expectantly, and it seemed he was quickly becoming someone else he hated to disappoint. 

And when did that happen? When did Rhys become someone whose opinion Tim cared about, when for so long that had been a very exclusive club of one, presided over by Handsome Jack himself. 

_It’s cuz you’re a sad sack, Timmy_ , Jack’s voice said in his head. _A little attention from a pretty face and you’re ready to roll over. You’re too fucking easy._

Tim took a deep breath. Rhys was right, it would make for a good distraction. “I’m not very good at telling stories, and it was a long time ago.”

“Give yourself a little more credit, buddy.” Rhys bumped shoulders with him gently, smiling. “Now spill.”

He had never told anyone the whole story. No one had ever asked. He had made a deliberate effort to forget, and the details were hazy. But once he started talking it got easier. Like part of him wanted the story to be told.

He had been running with Jack for a while by then. They were both low level desk jockeys at Hyperion, but even at that stage Jack had been entranced by the idea of finding his very own vault. They spent every free opportunity scouring Pandora for Jack’s ticket to greatness. “We’re destined for more than this, Timtam. Stick with me and you’ll see.”

Jack had a crew of other vault hunters that came and went, but Tim was always by his side. They ate, fought and survived a dozen hairy situations together on the regular. By that stage Tim was already half in love with him, though he was never really sure if he wanted Jack or just wanted to be Jack. He was caught up in the romance of adventure, so far from the old life he had actively started trying to forget. 

Jack, in his own way, seemed fond of him. Treated him like an annoying kid brother (or an amusing pet), but he was always there at Tim’s back when things went sideways.

This mission had started the same as any other. He and Jack were with Wilhelm, that giant of a man, and Athena, who Tim admired and feared in equal parts. They had worked with the two before, and the team had an easy rhythm to it, with Jack as ever their fearless leader. There was never any question about who was top dog.

Jack had heard rumours of a vault key somewhere in the Badlands, and made it his personal mission to find it. They had already been through two other bandit camps following the rumour, and at the third one they mowed through the inhabitants until there were only a handful left standing. Jack and Wilhelm were taking turns questioning the survivors inside a squat, stifling tent. Tim didn’t have the stomach for their methods, and waited outside for them to finish. Athena was outside too, cleaning her weapons. She never volunteered for interrogation duty either, but if Jack asked she would do it doggedly, without any apparent enjoyment or distaste.

She wasn’t one for small talk, which Tim was grateful for. He still had trouble maintaining eye contact with her. He always felt she would see him for the fraud that he was. She and the others were real hero material; Tim was just a college drop-out with a gun.

Eventually Jack walked out of their makeshift interrogation room with Wilhelm at his back. Jack had split his knuckles bloody at some point, but he was grinning, looking very far from feeling any pain.

“We’ve hit the jackpot, kiddos! Our dearly departed friend back there finally gave up the goods.”

Tim and the others followed him to a wooded spot at the edge of the camp, and the three of them started digging while Jack watched on with fever bright eyes. 

They found the chest in a little while, buried in the hard Pandoran dirt. Tim could remember vividly how it had glowed in the afternoon light, so bright it was hard to look at. Jack stared at it like it was the face of his true love. 

“Come to daddy,” Jack said, hands outstretched. Athena rolled her eyes but hoisted it up and laid it at his feet.

Jack crouched down and ran his hands over the chest, framing its curves with reverent touches. It was ridiculous to be jealous of an inanimate object, but nevertheless Tim was jealous. Jack paused with his hand on the lock, then looked around at Tim.

“You wanna do the honours, Timmy?” Jack smiled, and Tim lit up from the inside the same way he did each time Jack gave him his attention. 

Heart pounding, he said, “It’s your vault key, Jack, you should open it.”

Jack rose and slung his arm over Tim with a laugh. Elation poured off him in palpable waves. “It’s our key, kiddo. You did good today, I want you to be the one to open it.”

“Can someone just fucking open it already,” Athena said. “I want to leave sometime this century.”

Buzzing from Jack’s generosity, Tim crouched in front of the chest, laid his hand on the lid, and flipped the lock.

He couldn’t remember everything that happened immediately after. His memory of it came and went like pieces of jagged glass. Laid over everything like a stain was the agony of his face, and the sound of someone screaming.

“Fuck! Don’t touch it, don’t fucking--” Jack was crouched over him, his split-knuckled hands gripping Tim’s wrists. The look of genuine distress on his face was unfamiliar and frightening. 

_He does love me_ , Tim thought deliriously, then realised the screaming was coming from his own throat, the sound tearing itself out of him like an animal tearing off its own leg to be free.

“It was a trap,” Wilhelm said.

“No fucking shit, genius!” Jack spat. “Someone get me a fucking health kit right the fuck now!”

“A health kit’s not going to fix that.” Athena looked down at Tim like he was a particularly interesting bug, but handed one to Jack anyway.

He had passed out after that. The pain was too much to bear. When he came around again he was lying in a shuttle bound for Helios, his head in Jack’s lap. His face was numb in the way an amputated limb might be numb. Jack grabbed his hand when he tried to touch it.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” Jack ran his hand gently through Tim’s hair. It was the most intimate touch he had ever given him, and Tim dimly wished he could enjoy it more. “I’ve got you, Timmy, and we’re on our way to a doctor. I know a guy.” Jack looked down at him with an expression on his mask that Tim was too drugged up to interpret. “I’m going to take good care of you, Timothy.”

*

Blood had progressively drained from Rhys’ face over the course of the story, but now two red spots were rising on his cheeks. “He just...gave you his face? Did you even get a say in it?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tim said with more certainty than he felt. “Dr Autohn said my face was unsalvageable, and he already had experience replicating Jack’s mask.” It had made sense at the time. 

“He had no right,” Rhys said, and Tim realised with a start that Rhys was angry. Angry for him, about what happened to him. It was strange to think Rhys cared. But Tim could feel anger starting inside himself too. How could Rhys misinterpret Jack’s intentions like that?

“You don’t understand,” he said, trying to tamp down his own annoyance. “Jack saved my life.”

“He’s the reason you got hurt!”

“He couldn’t have known about the trap. He said he would take care of me and he did.” Tim shot to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. “Stop interrupting me, I haven’t finished yet.”

Rhys looked green. “I’m not sure if I want to hear anymore.”

Tim barely heard him over the rush of long put aside memories, now breaking down the doors of each little room he had locked them away in. It was a thunder in his head and poured from his mouth in a torrent of words.

*

The first time they showed him a mirror Tim felt his world invert with a violent wrench. Jack’s face--his face--reflecting back at him was pale under the tan, slack with shock. It was Jack but not Jack, Jack’s perfect features on the sculpted mask looking out of place under his red hair, on his pale neck. He touched his cheek with a shaking hand and felt the synthetic, almost-flesh of the mask give gently under his fingertips.

Jack was at his side, his hand warm and heavy on Tim’s shoulder. “Looking good, handsome.” Jack swept his eyes over him critically then clicked his tongue. “Well, from the neck up at least.”

Tim looked down at himself. He had packed on some muscle since taking up the vault hunting life, but he was still scrawny compared to Jack. They had cut his shirt off him for the operation, and his torso was pale and thin, skin that couldn’t tan but broke out in freckles at a touch of sun rising out from his dusty combat pants. There was blood dried on the knee of the fabric. Tim picked at it, wondering whose it might be.

Dimly he heard Jack talking to someone over his head. “Is he going to be this spacey for a while, doc? I need him back on his feet.”

“Some disorientation is to be expected,” Dr Autohn said. “He has had a traumatic experience, and it will take some time for him to adjust to the, ah, new circumstances.”

“So someone fucked up your face. Welcome to the club, pal.” Jack bent down until he was eye level with Tim. He gave Tim a hard stare, then smiled. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I Timmy? And look at you now, so damn gorgeous I could kiss you.”

Tim blinked at him. “Can I have my face back?”

Jack’s smile stiffened. “Pretty ungrateful there for someone who’d be dead without me. I don’t share my handsome mug with just anybody, Timtam. How about showing me a little gratitude here, huh?”

“Sorry Jack.” Tim looked down at his lap, guts clenching. He hated it when Jack was disappointed in him. “Thank you.”

“There we go.” Jack patted his knee, right over the blood stain. “Rest up babe, I’ll find the fuckers responsible for your accident and we can curb stomp them together. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

Tim healed fast. He always did. His body didn’t reject the new face and life went on. But while he was physically cleared, he still found it hard to catch his own reflection. It was wrong to see Jack’s face attached to the rest of him. It was like someone had ripped a masterpiece from its gilded frame and stuck it on a toilet wall, leaving it to rot. At night he was plagued by bad dreams: walking through long corridors searching for his old self; peeling off layers of skin trying to find a body that could match his new face. 

It didn’t help that it felt like he was letting Jack down somehow. Every time Jack looked at him there seemed to be a flash of disappointment when his gaze dropped below Tim’s chin. Jack had given him the greatest gift, and Tim had fucked it up, because Timothy Lawrence was a fuck up. 

He couldn’t eat. He stopped sleeping. Jack climbed the ranks at Hyperion and Tim sank into himself, free falling, nothing but the rush of air in his ears even when he was standing still.

He thought he had it together, at least enough to pass for normal. His hands shook but his aim was still true. But after one too many long nights of gritty-eyed insomnia and nightmares, he woke up with air crushing down on his chest. Logically he knew there was no threat. He was in his room, tangled in his sheets, but something was repeatedly triggering his fight-or-flight response and neither was possible. He could only lay on his bed and gasp for breath.

After what felt like forever he realised there was someone else in the room with him. Jack had come to check on him. He stood now looking down at Tim, brows furrowed, with that look of vague distaste that was becoming so familiar. “You look like shit, Timtam. When was the last time you shaved?”

Tim could only shake his head. He didn’t know what day it was, how long he had been in bed. The only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t go on like this.

Jack clicked his tongue. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for this, Timmy. If you wanna quit, just say the word. I’ve got a dozen suckers lined up for your job.”

“No, please.” It was hard to move his deadened limbs but Tim dragged himself up, clutching at Jack’s sleeve. He couldn’t quit. He would be nothing without Jack. He’d fucked up but he could be better, he just needed a little help. Jack could help him. Jack had said he would take care of him. Dimly he realised he was babbling. His eyes burned and his chest heaved as he talked, trying to make it better, anything to make Jack stop looking at him like that.

Jack pulled him up and cupped his hand around Tim’s trembling jaw. “I’ve got just the thing for you, cupcake. Me and the doc have been working on something really exciting. I just know you’ll love it.”

He listened as Jack told him about the surgery, the enhancements, the odds of permanent disfigurement or death ("Don't worry about that. You're tough, I know you can handle it"). Everybody wanted to be Handsome Jack, but only Tim would have the chance to live it. He was being given the opportunity to shed his skin, cast away everything that held him back and become the hero he had always dreamed of being.

Jack’s hand was warm and heavy on his neck as he pulled Tim to his broad chest. Everything else faded away as Tim breathed him in. Only Jack was real. “All you gotta do is say the word, babe, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

For the first time since his accident Tim felt something loosen in his chest, like a dead weight had fallen away. Of course Jack had the answer, he always did, and he would make this nightmare go away. 

Making the choice had been the hardest part. Everything that came afterward was easy, like dying.

*

Tim stopped, unable to continue any longer. He was shaking, his white-knuckled fists digging into his knees as he tried to breathe through it. He clenched his chattering teeth and wished he had never said anything.

Rhys was staring at him like he had just watched someone die. It was unbearable. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Rhys swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Tim, I’m so sorry, I had no idea--”

The screech of brakes cut off the rest of his words. They had arrived. Tim bolted to his feet and made himself busy checking his weapons and picking up his bag. Rhys looked like he wanted to say more but Tim didn’t give him the opportunity. He shouldered past Rhys and wrenched open the door. Pandora stretched out in front of him, loveless and vast. The rush of desert air scoured away the tangle of emotions roiling in his chest. His trembling subsided. He had a job to do.

“Let’s go.” He made his way for the nearest Catch-a-Ride without waiting to see if Rhys would follow. “Jack’s waiting.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snare tightens for Rhys. Tim tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: strong dubcon.

The drive was long and tense, filled with a busy silence. For once Rhys wished for an ambush, or a stray rakk nest. Anything that Pandora could throw at them couldn’t be worse than watching Tim pretend he was fine. 

Tim had told his horrifying tale steadily, like he was recounting something that had happened to someone else, but from time to time his face spasmed with anguish even as his voice stayed unaffected. It was a strange sight to see on a face that Rhys had always associated with power and control. But Tim was not Handsome Jack. For all that they had the same face and voice and body, he was different from Jack in all the ways that really mattered. Tim was just as much a victim of Handsome Jack as anyone else. 

Back on the shuttle Rhys had wanted so badly to reach out, to offer some kind of meagre comfort, but Tim had looked like he was barely holding it together, like he would fall apart at the lightest touch. 

Now Tim had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle it, or struggling to hold something back. He hadn’t looked at Rhys since they landed.

Rhys’ excitement at the prospect of going home, even temporarily, had long soured. Now it sat like a stone in his belly. He shifted in his seat and sent an encrypted message to his sisters. A quick check-in, to let them know he was still alive.

Fiona’s response came almost instantly. _All good?_

He thought about how to answer that. _I miss you both like crazy. I’m in over my head. I made a friend with the intention of using him but now I don’t think I can._

If he gave any indication that something was wrong, his sisters would come charging in guns blazing, Handsome Jack be damned. But that couldn’t happen. Success was so close: he had finally cracked the encryption to Jack’s ECHO account, and just needed the opportunity to test his access. Then he could leave this whole mess behind and live his new life.

 _All good,_ he sent back.

_Stay safe._

His chest ached at the sight of the message. Safety was not possible since becoming Handsome Jack’s personal chew toy. 

Rhys liked sex. He liked that other people liked his looks, his adventurousness, and orgasms were fun. But sex with Jack was like being shoved from a speeding car. The relief at having survived each encounter was almost more addictive than the orgasms Jack wrung out of him. 

Logically he knew Jack was bad news. It was a plain fact: the sky was blue, skags were feral, and Hyperion and the man at the top were the bad guys. But it was hard to think straight when he had his knees around his ears and his own come on his face. 

Rhys slumped against the passenger door and pressed his head against the glass. On the horizon he could make out the squat shapes of settlements here and there. Even from this distance the places looked squalid and depressing, a familiar sight he and the girls encountered throughout their travels. Survival was never easy on Pandora, and those who thrived usually did so on the backs of others. The honest folk (or what passed for honest on this hellhole) were relegated to shanty towns with nothing but junk heaps and bounty boards--

Rhys bolted upright in his seat. Tim flicked him a startled glance but he hardly noticed over the rush of blood in his ears.

 _Shit_. How often did Jack come down to Pandora? He hardly seemed the type to mingle with the great unwashed, but what were the odds of him coming across a bounty board here and there? Rhys had never been this far west, but that didn’t mean his wanted poster hadn’t. He and the girls had pissed off their fair share of people to have a decent price on their heads, and there was no telling how far and wide the bounty for their capture had spread.

Cold sweat sprung up along his spine. Tim was on Pandora all the time. Had he seen the posters? No, he wasn’t that good a liar, Rhys could tell. 

“What’s the matter? Did you see something?” Tim was scanning the horizon for a threat, tensed for action. His hand dropped to the SMG resting between them. Rhys tried very hard not to imagine what getting shot felt like.

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just a stomach ache, those burritos at the cafeteria are never a good idea.”

Tim frowned at him but didn’t ask anymore. His hand eased off the gun.

Rhys settled back into his seat and tried to breathe evenly through the panic. At least the excuse was believable--his guts were clenching with anxiety and he put an arm around himself. 

Surely his cover was still good. Handsome Jack would not tolerate a thief in his house, no matter how prettily Rhys bent over for him. If Jack had even the faintest suspicion about him, Rhys would already be dead. He was under no illusions about what he meant to Jack. How he felt about Jack, on the other hand, was more complicated, and beyond articulation. It didn’t help that sometimes the way Jack looked at him made hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

 _It’s okay,_ he told himself. _I’m always lucky, I’ll get through this._ Rhys was a good liar, but it was always harder to fool himself. 

*

Opportunity rose up around them like heat blasted glass, all sharp edges and glittering steel. Even in its half-completed state it was awe inspiring, which was no doubt the intent. The city was everything Rhys had craved growing up in the slums of Hollow Point. He had seen its spires in his dreams, walked its broad avenues in his sleep as his body huddled small and hungry on dirt floors. Opportunity promised the life he so desperately wanted for himself and his sisters. But somehow, now that he was here in the midst of constructed wealth and privilege, he couldn’t help but notice a hint of rot under the polish.

Maybe it’s the sterility of the place, so artificial compared to the normal wild landscapes of Pandora. Or maybe it was the sight of the workers scurrying under the unblinking stares of loader bot sentries, their dirty faces slack with exhaustion. Either way Rhys’ stomach clenched with unease. He wondered if any of these labourers were from the nearby towns, and how many might recognise his face off of a wanted poster. 

Jack was waiting for them, standing in the midst of frenzied activity like a rock in the stream around which everything flowed. In the shadow of the giant statue of himself Jack should have seemed small, but as usual it was impossible to dismiss him. 

“What do you think, hmm?” Jack gestured around him, teeth gleaming. “Isn’t this just the most goddamn gorgeous place you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s...very shiny,” Rhys said drily.

Jack snorted. “You’re lucky you’re cute, pumpkin. Anyone else I’d stake out as a snack for passing bandits.” He hauled Rhys in by his shirt and mouthed at his neck, one hand sliding down to squeeze his ass. Rhys was hyper aware of the stares they drew even as heat coiled between his legs. Jack bit his ear none too gently. “How ‘bout it, babe? You want a tour, or should we get straight to the main event?”

“I’ve seen the main event. It’s not that impressive.” He knew he should stop needling Jack, but he couldn’t help it. The thrill of having Jack look at him like he was a prize to be claimed was too intoxicating. 

“That mouth of yours, kiddo, I swear…” Jack patted his cheek just a little too hard, but there was that look Rhys so craved. His stomach flipped with the sick mix of anxiety and lust he had come to associate with Jack.

Tim cleared his throat. “I got him here like you asked. If there’s nothing else…?”

“Got somewhere better to be, Timtam?” Jack turned Tim with a hand on his chin until they were face to face, two sides of a mirror. Tim returned his stare mutely, then brushed off Jack’s hand like a horse shrugging off a fly. It was the first time Rhys had seen him reject Jack’s touch. His stomach clenched with foreboding.

Jack gave Tim a dark look, then his face broke into a smile. “You know what, it’s been a long day, I know how you hate to fly. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, hmm?” He clapped his hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing. “And don’t sulk too long, I want a happy face on that handsome mug next time I see it.” 

Jack took Rhys to the tallest building at the very centre of Opportunity and they made their way up. As the elevator rose in its glass column Jack was unusually silent. The shadows of each floor passed over his face, flashing light and dark. His arm was uncomfortably tight around Rhys’ waist.

As they stepped into the penthouse Rhys let slip a sound of amazement. They were very high up, and through the wall of windows Opportunity sprawled out beneath them, a glittering gem set into Pandora’s harsh landscape. 

Jack barely seemed to notice. He strode through to the bedroom, throwing down his jacket and unholstering his gun. When Rhys hovered uncertainly at the doorway Jack looked at him, eyebrows lifted. “Well come on, kitten, I didn’t ship you all the way down here to check my calendar. Take everything off.”

Rhys swallowed and undressed. The air was heavy with the potential for violence, a breathless calm before the storm. Jack watched him like he was watching a machine being disassembled. Naked, Rhys stood in the chilled air and fought the urge to cover himself. 

Jack looked meaningfully at his cybernetic arm. “I said everything.”

His heart thumped. Rhys only took off his arm when he was alone, and only when he was sure he was safe. Here in this room with Jack he was far from either state. He forced himself to smile. “C’mon, it’s much more fun when I can use both hands.”

He reached to undress Jack, but the other man’s hands shot up and gripped his wrists hard. “Are you saying no to me, kitten?” Jack said, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhys looked at him. “What if I am?”

Jack smirked and stepped back, letting him go. “Then we stop right now. You get yourself dressed and take your sweet ass back to Eden. I’ve got people lined up around the block for a piece of this beefcake, I don’t need to force you.”

 _10 million dollars_ _,_ Rhys thought. _Just a few more days, and I’ll never have to see that smug fucking face again_. He took a deep breath and unhooked his arm, placing it gently on the bedside table. Unmoored, the arm looked distressingly lifeless, a mannequin's limb missing its body. He straightened up and shifted his feet to compensate for the sudden change in his balance. 

Jack stepped close, warm and solid against his bare skin. He took Rhys’ face into his hands and murmured “Good boy” against his lips. As he kissed him Jack walked them backward until Rhys’ knees fetched up against the bed. Unbalanced, Rhys wobbled and fell onto his elbow. Jack followed him down and shushed him as he struggled to right himself. “There you go, kitten, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He pressed soft kisses down Rhys’ cheek, down his neck and along the lines of his tattoo. His hands smoothed over Rhys, equally gentle.

Slowly, Rhys let himself relax. Jack wasn’t going to hurt him. It was okay. It might be more than okay. Jack’s mouth found his nipple and Rhys groaned at the slight nip of teeth. His cock filled out in Pavlovian response. It rose up into Jack’s warm, calloused hand, and Rhys moaned again as Jack pumped him slowly. He had been good, and Jack was going to reward him.

Jack kissed him deeply, slowly as he jerked him, like they had all the time in the world. Rhys kissed back and wound his legs around Jack’s thighs. The other man was still dressed, and there were too many layers between them. “Get naked already,” he said, wriggling under Jack’s weight.

Jack chuckled against his mouth. “Easy babe, there’s no hurry.” His hand moved from Rhys’ cock down past his balls, and a warm finger pressed against his hole. Rhys closed his eyes and moved against the pressure, letting Jack pull his left arm over his head.

The click of something metal and cold around his one remaining wrist was a jolt. Rhys jerked, but Jack’s bulk kept him pinned. “What the fuck, Jack--”

“Shh shh, easy, now.” Jack tightened the restraint until it threatened to cut into Rhys’ skin. It rattled as Rhys jerked his arm but didn’t budge.

Rhys hated not having free use of his arm. It reminded him too much of the early days and how vulnerable he had been, before his cybernetic implants, and before he learned to do everything one-handed to compensate. He forced on a smile. “It’s usually polite to ask before you pull something like this, Jack.”

Jack smirked. “I’m Handsome goddamn Jack, remember? I don’t ask.” He folded Rhys until his knees were against his chest, leaving him completely exposed to Jack’s gaze. “That’s part of my charm.”

Rhys squirmed ineffectually against Jack’s grip. There was nowhere to hide. He was tied down, spread open, entirely at Jack’s mercy. The thought made his dick throb against his belly. “Jack,” he whined.

“You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, babe?” Jack’s gaze raked down his body, taking him in. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

Rhys sucked in a harsh breath that came out in a moan as Jack bent down and licked hotly into the cleft of his ass. He twitched but Jack had him firmly by the underside of his knees, spreading him apart to be devoured. He sobbed as he was breached by that muscular tongue. His arm rattled in its cuff. “God, please, Jack--” He wanted to sink his hands into that thick head of hair, wanted to grab onto something, anything, but he could only tremble as Jack took his time, eating him out slowly, patiently, that relentless mouth working him until Rhys felt like he was dripping, his hole quivering and tender.

By the time Jack came back up Rhys was a wreck, his belly slick with precum and knees shaking. Jack smirked, his lips and chin shiny. “You like that, kitten? You want more?”

“God, yes, please.” He ached to be filled. He could see the tent in Jack’s pants, he knew what Jack could do to him and he craved it. 

Jack kissed along the lines of his tattoo as he pushed two slick fingers inside. There was barely any resistance. Rhys arched, trying to push himself back onto Jack’s hand. Tears sprang up as he felt those fingers find his sweet spot and linger over it, teasing. “Just fuck me, please Jack, I need to come.” Part of him was amazed he could still manage sentences.

Jack pulled him onto his clothed lap with one hand as the other kept up its slow, insistent rhythm inside him. Rhys wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist, bucking. 

“You’d let me take you apart, won’t you?” Jack ran his free hand down Rhys’ chest, rubbing circles through the mess on his belly. “Think you can come like this, princess?”

Rhys sobbed, shaking his head. It wasn’t enough, he needed Jack to touch him, put a hand on his dripping cock, anything. 

“Oh Rhysie, give yourself a little credit,” Jack chuckled, and it wasn’t fair that he should sound so unbothered when he was knuckle deep inside him. “C’mon sweetcheeks, nobody likes a quitter.” He folded one of Rhys’ thighs back, opening him wide as his fingers pressed insistently against Rhys’ prostate. It was too intense, that unrelenting pressure almost on the edge of pain. Rhys strained into it and flinched away again and again, breath hitching on a whine with every stroke. Jack filled his vision, looming over and pressing inside him, inescapable. When he felt the brush of a thumb against his tender rim Rhys wailed and came, clenching down, curling into himself as his untouched dick pulsed out spurt after hot spurt. 

When he could breathe again Rhys found himself sprawled in Jack’s lap, chest heaving and every limb trembling. His shoulder hurt from pulling against the restraint. Jack was still dressed, but he no longer looked unaffected. Jack looked at him like he wanted to eat Rhys alive. 

Jack ran a finger through the come on Rhys’ chest and pushed it into Rhys’ open mouth. “That’s right babe, put that pretty mouth to use. I know every man in Opportunity is thinking about it. Bet they’re popping a chub right now imagining all the things you’re letting me do to you.” Jack’s eyes gleamed with intent. “Whaddaya say I bring up half a dozen of them to give them a taste, hmm? I just know you’d take it like a champ.”

Rhys kicked out before he even realised what he was doing. He couldn’t help it. Fear rattled in his chest and his breath came fast and hard. Jack wouldn’t, it was just an empty threat, but he couldn’t know for sure, because Jack might. Because Jack was watching him hungrily, the way a fox would watch a rabbit thrashing in a snare. His heel struck Jack on his shoulder and a hand wrapped around Rhys’ throat, fingers squeezing in warning. “Uh uh, none of that now,” Jack said. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

“Jack, please.” He couldn’t help the tremour in his voice. The word ‘stop’ was on the tip of his tongue and he bit it back with a struggle. If he said no now, it was all over. It would have all been for nothing. So the only thing he could say was, “Whatever you want, just please not that.”

Jack grinned, like they had just shared a good joke. “Relax, cupcake, I’m just yanking your chain. Everybody knows I don’t like to share my toys.” 

Rhys held himself very still as Jack kissed him, his tongue pushing into Rhys’ mouth. Jack was a heavy weight on him, his clothes rough against Rhys’ bare skin. Jack had rewired Rhys’ brain as efficiently as Jack wrote beautiful code: fear was so deeply rooted with lust that Rhys thought he might never be able to untangle the two again. Jack’s fingers restarted their slow rhythm inside him, brushing insistently against his sweet spot. Despite himself Rhys felt his dick slowly fill out again. He whimpered as Jack pushed another finger inside. A bead of precum slid down his traitorous cock.

“Look at you, kitten. I could just eat you up.” Jack’s teeth scraped over his neck. Rhys gasped. He needed to slow his breathing, he was getting lightheaded, but it was impossible. “You know what I want to hear.”

“Please, Jack, please please, I need--” Rhys’ breath hitched as Jack pushed a fourth finger inside. He was so full, and he needed to come again, because then it would be over. If he could please Jack enough, beg prettily enough, then Jack would let him go. “I need you.”

“Yeah, babe,” Jack laughed low in his throat. “Yeah you do.”

When it was over Jack uncuffed him and pressed his mouth against the red raw marks on his wrist. Rhys sucked in breath after breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Jack had him, indisputably, irrevocably, and Jack was not going to give him up. Safety had never been an option.

*

Opportunity’s defences were substantial but still developing, and there were gaps here and there. The city had been established in one of the more dangerous parts of Pandora, and it had been no easy feat to wrest control from the planet’s deadly wilderness, but that was the point. Jack wanted a monument to his greatness, an ambitious, shining example of how his reach triumphed even over nature. 

It meant a lot of workers died, dragged off by skags or swooped by rakks, but that was an acceptable loss. After all, there was no shortage of labour on Pandora. Better they were dying for the greatness of Handsome Jack than living their pointless little lives scrabbling in the dirt.

That logic had always twisted Tim’s stomach. It was one of a hundred things he tried not to think about, because thinking led to questions, and as Jack always said, “I’m not paying you to ask questions.”

They had been here for days now, and Jack had given him no indication of how much longer they might be. Jack was hardly around, and it was unusual not to see him barking orders at the overworked builders. When Tim did manage to catch him Jack seemed distracted and very pleased with himself. Tim hadn’t seen Rhys at all.

Since their awful trip down, Tim’s anger had receded into something softer, more regretful. He hadn’t meant to snap at Rhys like that. He wanted a chance to apologise, and to explain. He wasn’t angry at Rhys, but rather at himself: for blabbing his mouth and dredging up ancient history. He had thought Rhys would be entertained by the glimpse into Jack’s past, but the other man had not reacted at all as Tim had expected. That soft face had been hollowed out with shock, and something of the look set off alarm bells deep inside Tim, stirring things that should have been safely locked away.

And so he found himself at the outskirts of the Pits, perched on a hill sighting down at a nest of disturbingly large skags. There were plenty of loader bots that could wade into the nest and turn the beasts into paste, but he needed something to do. He needed to stop thinking, and he always felt more solid with a gun in his hand.

The wind was strong up here, but he still heard the faint crunch of footsteps coming up behind him. Tim whipped around, finger on the trigger. His pulse jumped when he saw Rhys’ head at the end of his scope.

“Don’t shoot.” Rhys gave him a little wave. “I come in peace.”

“Christ.” Tim lowered his gun, unspent adrenaline crashing through him. “I could have blown your head off.”

“But you didn’t.” Rhys came and sat with him, shoulder to shoulder, chin propped up on one leg. Curled up as he was, Rhys didn’t look like the same man Tim had first encountered in Jack’s office, or like the one who always had an easy grin for Tim. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping, and in the buffeting wind he seemed pale and hollowed out. He looked like he too had been remade by Jack.

Tim pushed the thought away. “How did you even get up here? There’s dozens of skags prowling around.”

Rhys shrugged. He rubbed at his left wrist where fabric covered the skin like it was bothering him. “Skags are only a little smarter than hair. If you approach from downwind and stay quiet they’ll never know you’re there.”

The rest of the world dropped away as Rhys’ words sunk in. Tim stared, but Rhys only returned his look steadily, waiting.

“You’re not from Eden, are you,” Tim said at last.

“No,” Rhys said. “I’m not.”

Tim had had his suspicions, but the sense of validation didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. Why would Rhys admit to his lie now? What had changed? Tim looked away and sighted down his scope, aimed, pulled. A hundred clicks below a skag dropped. “How did you even find me here?”

From his peripherals he saw Rhys lean back on his hands and tilt his face up to the sky. “I hacked your ECHO and tracked your GPS.”

“Does Jack know you can do that?”

“No.” Rhys had closed his eyes. He looked relaxed but the skin around his eyes was pinched. “Are you going to tell him?”

Tim thought about what he still owed, and what Jack had already taken. “No,” he said.

Rhys looked over at him then, but Tim was lifting up his rifle again. He didn’t want to see what expression might be on Rhys’ face. The silence stretched out between them, broken only by the muted pop of his gun and the distant screech of skags as they splattered across the hard dirt. When one clip emptied he smoothly switched it out for another, hands working on instinct, fast and precise.

“You’re scarily good at this,” Rhys said.

Tim only grunted. He knew he was a killer. It was the only thing he was good at.

Rhys drew a deep breath. “Tim, listen, I want you to know--”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. Suddenly the view through his scope was weaving, and he had to put down his rifle to try and hide the tremour in his hands. “Please don’t. If you tell me why you’re really here, I’ll have to tell Jack, and then he’ll hurt you. He might make me do it for him.” He didn’t think he could, not to Rhys.

Rhys chewed his lip. “You don’t have to do what Jack tells you to.”

Was that true? Jack had been telling him what to do for so long: how to dress, who to shoot, when to be good. He could hardly imagine a time when he wouldn’t have orders to follow. _But you could_ , a small voice inside him whispered. It sounded like Rhys. _You could make your own choices._

The possibility was like a yawning chasm at Tim’s feet and he teetered at the precipice, too scared to look. He had always been afraid of falling.

He flinched when Rhys put a hand on his forearm. His touch was warm against Tim’s skin. Rhys’ shirtsleeve had pulled up a little, and Tim stared at the purpling bruises over the delicate knob of his wrist. The things he tried not to think about were howling at the door. 

He opened his mouth, half afraid he might scream, but what came out instead was, “Take my bike and go, right now. If you get far away enough Jack might not find you.”

Rhys dropped his hand, shaking his head. Tim’s skin burned where he had touched. “I can’t, not yet. I’ve come too far to quit.”

Tim gripped Rhys by the shoulders, fighting the urge to shake him. “If you stay, Jack will find out, and he will kill you. Is whatever you’re after worth dying for?”

Rhys scowled, anger rising in his cheeks. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be desperate. You’ve never had to scrounge through someone else’s garbage for a mouthful of food.” And god, how did Tim never realise how infuriating Rhys could be, the way he glared at Tim, so reckless and stupid Tim could strangle him. 

He kissed Rhys instead. 

Rhys tensed, his lips parting as Tim pulled him close. He was warm and solid and beautifully alive in Tim’s arms. Tim put everything he didn’t dare say into his kiss, things he couldn’t fully articulate to himself he tried to show Rhys, and Rhys was, Rhys was---

Rhys was shoving at him. Tim felt a sharp sting, tasted blood in his mouth. Rhys was trying to pull away. His eyes were wide with fear in his pale face. The sight crushed all the air from Tim’s chest. 

Rhys didn’t want him. Rhys was afraid of him. 

Rhys slipped from his slack grip and scrambled to his feet. He wiped a metal hand over his mouth, looked down mutely at the smear of blood, then turned on his heel and was gone. 

Tim stared numbly at the dust Rhys had kicked up, quickly snatched away by the wind. His mind was blank. His lip throbbed where Rhys had bit him. There was a steel band around his middle and it crushed him until he couldn’t breathe. Howling over the roar of blood in his ears was the sound of Jack’s laughter, echoing in his head. _You just had to take the one good thing in your life and ruin it, huh? Good job, kiddo. Good fucking job!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape.

Rhys used to love mirrors, because mirrors loved him. They always displayed his fine features so adoringly, and he loved to linger over what they showed him. He was Narcissus at the pond, gazing into his own bedroom eyes, those soft lips that begged to be kissed, skin pale and fine highlighted by the loops and colours of his tattoos. He took great pride in how he could capture anyone’s attention with a quirk of his lips, or a dip of his long lashes. It wasn’t vanity, only fact. 

But that was before.

Now as he walked down the shining corridors of Helios, he kept his eyes straight ahead. From the corner of his vision he could see his own reflection in the long windows and polished chrome. It was like being haunted, and he couldn’t bring himself to look in case the past caught up with him. 

He had survived Opportunity the same way he had survived his childhood alone on Pandora: by carving away all the bad and frightening things until he had whittled himself down to the pure drive to keep moving. He couldn’t dwell on the past; once he started he might just curl up and never get back up again. He didn’t get this far in life without being able to compartmentalise like a pro. The only way was forward, he had determination and long legs, he could outrun any problem. 

Jack’s office was just ahead. With each step his heart grew lighter. Excitement buzzed through him like electricity. He was so close to the score, he could get this done, make his escape, and he would never have to think about Handsome Jack again.

The doors parted with a hiss and Rhys locked it behind him. This time he made damn sure he wouldn’t be interrupted. 

Jack was currently presiding over a closed door meeting with Tediore, who had brought half a dozen of their executives and a truckload of security. Tediore’s stocks had been suffering lately, and Hyperion had made them an offer they couldn’t refuse without (likely literal) bloodshed. Ostensibly the meeting was to negotiate over stock options, but everyone who knew Handsome Jack knew that he had Tediore over a barrel, and he was going to enjoy himself a little before he swallowed Tediore up whole. 

(“You ever taken candy from a baby before, Rhysie? ‘Course you have, you’re Hyperion. Well, this is going to be just like that, except I’m also going to fuck that baby’s mum right after. It’s going to be the best fun I’ve had all week.”)

Rhys knew Jack wouldn’t rush through the enjoyment of watching Tediore squirm. He had at least an hour to do the job, but he wouldn’t need that long.

His boots echoed over the marble floors. Elpis stared down at him like the eye of some huge intergalactic monster. Jack’s desk looked the same as it did the first time Jack had bent him over it, but Rhys pushed it from his mind _(Don’t think about it)_. He sat in Jack’s chair, pulled up the screen, and activated his ECHOeye.

Hours of careful preparation and delicate code, and now for the moment of truth. He took a deep breath and dove in. He slipped into the lines of ones and zeros, neatly sidestepped the honeypot and slotted his code into the system like a key into a lock. There was the slightest of pauses, then Jack’s account opened for him with a gentle chime like the singing of angels.

“That’s right, come to papa.” He let his fingers do the walking as he delved into the guts of the system, his ECHOeye scanning and discarding the useless stuff at light speed. Within seconds he found it: Project Archangel. Hyperion’s billion dollar research project, Jack’s baby, and Rhys’ ticket to the good life. He plugged himself into the system and downloaded everything to do with the project, his data port humming with power. This was the real reason he got into the hacking business. The rush was incredible, every time, like he was lit up with knowledge and more than just human. Knowing that he was going to screw Jack harder than Jack had ever been screwed in his life only sweetened the deal.

The transfer was done in seconds. As Rhys unplugged himself he felt his skin tingle with power, knowledge running through him like currents through a live wire. It was a simple matter to reach into the system and erase his digital footprints. But just as he was about to disconnect, a brilliant idea popped into shape.

He quickly pulled up the corporate email interface. 

_From: Handsome Jack_

_To: Hyperion_All_Staff_

_Subject: Confession: I have a micro dick and I cry myself to sleep every night_

“Get wrecked, Jack,” he cackled and set the email for auto send in two hours when he would be safely away from Helios. It was petty, yes, but he was not above a little spite and Jack deserved so much worse.

He shut down the screens, flushed with the knowledge of a job well done, and made his way for the shuttle terminal. 

*

Helios was abuzz with the news of the impending hostile takeover. There was bloodlust in the air, and Hyperion’s employees were stalking the halls like sharks circling the chum. Though Rhys felt like he was glowing with forbidden knowledge, no one paid him any attention. He had to force himself not to run but move at a fast walk, his long legs taking him closer toward freedom with each step. He spared a quick thought for Vaughn and Yvette, but he hadn’t come here to make friends, and they would go on without him. He thought of Tim, the way he had looked the last time Rhys had seen him, mouth bloodied and eyes full of hurt. 

He hadn’t meant to react like he did to Tim’s clumsy display of affection, but when Tim pulled him close Rhys’ brain had shut down. The only thing running through his head at the time had been Jack’s face and Jack’s hands and Jack’s sly grin. After that, fleeing had been the only option. 

He wished he had time to say goodbye. Somewhere along the line, Tim had gone from a potential mark to a possible friend. It was a strange experience for Rhys. Given the circles he ran in, he was a strong believer of ‘use or be used’. With the exception of his sisters, Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he trusted anyone far enough to throw them. But Tim was different. Despite Handsome Jack’s best efforts, there was still something pure and good in Tim. Rhys had been in the scamming business a long time, and he could tell a forgery from the real deal. Timothy Lawrence was the real deal, and that rarest of creatures on any planet: an honest man.

The thought of leaving Tim in Jack’s poisoned grip left a bad taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t spare any energy to worry about it now. When he was safely back on Pandora with all the resources his big payout would provide, he could work on a plan to save Tim. The girls would help. It wasn’t ideal but it would have to do. He refused to examine why he felt the need to save Tim. It went against his personal code of ‘me and mine first’, but it was a compulsion nevertheless. Maybe it was because Rhys had had a firsthand taste of what it was like to be subject to Jack’s particular brand of sadism _(Don’t think about it)_ but he couldn’t in good conscience leave Tim to suffer that any longer than he needed to. 

Rhys slowed as he neared the shuttle terminal. Freedom was beyond those massive doors, but there were two guards posted on either side that he mentally dubbed Knucklehead and Chucklehead. They looked like the type that were paid enough to shoot first and ask questions later. But that was fine, because Rhys had his wits and his charm.

As he approached he pulled out his most dazzling smile and gave them the double finger guns. “Looking good, fellas. How about that game last night, huh? Those losers from Concordia really got creamed.”

A gloved hand the size of a dinner plate landed on his chest and shoved him back. “Terminal’s closed during the VIP visit,” said the one he had labelled Knucklehead. “Come back later.”

Damn. Rhys gritted his teeth and tried again. “C’mon guys, I’m on a tight schedule here. If I don’t get off this station in the next ten minutes my boss is going to murder me.” That wasn’t even a lie.

Knucklehead lifted his massive shoulders in a shrug. “Don’t see how that’s my problem, so long as you don’t bleed on me.”

Rhys drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at him. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

It was hard to tell through the visor of his helmet but Knucklehead didn’t seem appropriately impressed. He turned to his pal. “You know this guy?”

Chucklehead shrugged. “Looks like the head janitor.”

“The head j--” Rhys bit back his outrage and smoothed his hands down his very nice clothes. The universe was crammed full of cretins with poor taste. “I’ll have you know I’m Handsome Jack’s”-- _chew toy_ \--”PA, and I’m here on very important business that you are obstructing.”

Chucklehead shifted his grip on his gun. “Look pal, you could be the President’s left nutsack for all I care. Nobody in or out without Handsome Jack’s direct orders.”

Fuck it all but his charm wasn’t getting the job done. His earlier excitement was sliding into panic, and it made thinking difficult. Rhys felt the steady weight of his stun baton in the pocket of his vest. He considered his odds against two heavily armoured guards with enough firepower to stop a minor incursion. Was it better to bleed out here in the shuttle terminal or be dragged back to face Jack’s wrath? He didn’t like the sound of either option, but there was no plan C, and he was not going to go down without a fight. He took a deep breath and crept a hand toward his pocket.

“Is there a problem here?”

Rhys froze, all the hairs on his body standing up on end. This couldn’t be happening. He had come so far and sacrificed so much, and now that he was mere steps away from freedom it was all going to be over.

The voice had an equally electrifying effect on the two guards, who straightened and saluted. Rhys was hyper aware of the presence at his back, coming closer with each step. His heart thrashed in his chest and his knees felt like jelly. He wondered if he could make a desperate grab for Chucklehead’s gun. 

All the breath left him in a rush when Tim stepped into his peripherals. He didn’t know how he knew it was Tim; the guards were certainly convinced, but Rhys could just tell. His heart rate lowered slightly until he no longer felt like he was going to vomit, but it was still a close thing.

Tim gave Rhys a quick glance before addressing Knucklehead: “Is there a reason you’re hassling my staff?”

Knucklehead stiffened. “Sir, just carrying out lockdown orders.”

“Did you get what you needed?” Tim said, and it took Rhys a beat to realise Tim was talking to him.

He cleared his throat. He could feel the electric hum of new data in his head in a way that was impossible to explain. “Yeah, yes I did.”

“Good.” Tim didn’t look at him. He was assessing Knucklehead with a faint crease in his brow. The two guards shifted on their feet. It was an uncomfortable experience having Handsome Jack’s full attention. “Well, move aside.”

Knucklehead started, “But, sir--”

Tim grabbed him by the throat, quick as a bullet, and pulled him in until his sneer was reflected in Knucklehead’s visor. “I said, move.”

Knucklehead swallowed audibly. Rhys could sympathise. Even though he knew it was Tim, that cold contempt was such a perfect copy of Handsome Jack that Rhys still felt sweat spring up along his back. 

“Y-yes sir, sorry sir.” Knucklehead stumbled as Tim released him and scrambled back to his post. Chucklehead had already beat a hasty retreat, smart man. Tim strode through the doors without a backward glance. Heart pounding, panic now giving way to hope, Rhys followed, winking at the guards as he passed them. He liked to think they were fuming behind the reflective visors, and had possibly pissed themselves, just a little.

He caught up to Tim in a few quick strides. Now that they were alone he saw Tim had shrugged off Handsome Jack like shedding a jacket. Though he was still Jack’s mirror image, Rhys could see the tell-tale signs of Tim in the slope of his shoulders, and the melancholy turn of his mouth. Where Jack was larger than life, Tim when unobserved always looked like he was trying to disappear. Right now he looked apprehensive, like Rhys was a threat, which was ridiculous. 

Rhys ran a sweaty hand through his hair and puffed out a breath. “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”

Tim lifted his shoulder, looking uncomfortable. “Consider it my apology for what happened, back in Opportunity.”

“What?” His blood ran cold as he remembered the few, endless days he had spent in Jack’s tender care _(Don’t think about it)_. He rubbed at his wrist compulsively. But no, wait, Tim couldn’t have known about that. With a jolt he realised Tim was talking about the kiss. “Oh, that.” He waved a hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t want to examine. He still wasn’t sure what had driven him to seek out Tim that day, only that he had been wrung out and heartsick, and desperate for a friendly face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who bit you, remember? I should be doing the apologizing.”

Tim still looked unconvinced but didn’t say anything more. 

There was a shuttle waiting at the station, lights dim and sitting idle. It was one of the older models, a little run down with scratches in its paintwork, but it was the most beautiful sight Rhys had ever seen. He took three long strides toward it before realising Tim had not followed him. 

The other man was looking at the stars beyond Helios, face soft with something like regret. Standing in the empty terminal, haloed in the light of Elpis, he looked like a man marooned on an alien planet, completely alone and without any hope of rescue. 

With great difficulty Rhys turned his back on the waiting shuttle. “You can’t stay here, Jack will know you helped me.”

Tim looked at him then, and gave him a tiny smile. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. There’s nothing Jack will do that I can’t bear.” He hesitated, then said, “Thanks Rhys, I’m glad I met you.”

Rhys knew he should go. Jack would be done with Tediore soon, and then he would come looking. But he couldn’t walk away from Tim now. On impulse he said, “Come with me. Pandora’s a big place and we’ll figure out a way.” It was a mad idea, but as the words came out of his mouth he grew more convinced. It was the right thing to do, he was sure of it. He grinned as he remembered Tim’s words from before, and he echoed them now. “If we get far away enough Jack might not find us.”

Tim still hadn’t moved. Rhys could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His blood was alive with possibilities. It was crazy, Tim had no reason to listen to him--Rhys had lied and manipulated his way into Hyperion to steal from Handsome Jack, Tim knew he was a thief and a con, but Rhys wanted him to so desperately, and not just as a final ‘fuck you’ to Jack. He took a deep breath. “Do you trust me?” 

Tim looked like he had stopped breathing, but he nodded.

“Then trust me,” Rhys said, stretching out his hand. For a heart-stopping second he was sure Tim was going to say no, or walk away. That handsome mask spasmed with emotion. It was hard to look at it, but Rhys made himself look, because Tim deserved his attention. The moment stretched out like taffy. Rhys was keenly aware of the ticking seconds, each one narrowing the window of escape. If he was a smarter man he would leave now, alone, but he couldn’t, not when Tim was looking at him like a man finding water in the desert.

Then Tim reached out and took a hold of his hand. Time snapped back into place. Rhys pulled them both into the shuttle, the doors closed, and they broke away from Helios. 

*

As soon as they were free of Elpis’ orbit Rhys sent the entirety of the Archangel project to his sisters. Pandora’s atmosphere could play havoc with comms, and he didn’t want to risk waiting any longer. When the girls received the package, Fiona would be in touch with her contact in Atlas, they would get paid, and life as they knew it would never be the same.

When the transfer was complete Rhys collapsed back into his seat and let out an incredulous laugh. He did it, he really did it. He basked in the glow of success for a solid minute, then jumped to his feet. He had too much adrenaline buzzing through him to sit still. He paced the confines of the shuttle, half bouncing half dancing. He fucking did it! He shook himself all over and laughed again, just to hear the sound.

It made Tim smile, which was nice. Tim had a very nice smile. Amazing what that face could look like when Jack wasn’t the one wearing it. 

Tim kept looking around like he couldn’t quite believe he was here, like a man trying to get his bearings after waking from a long dream. He avoided looking out the windows, and abruptly Rhys remembered that Tim hated to fly.

He sat down beside Tim and jiggled his legs, unable to fully contain himself. “My sisters are going to love you,” he said. Well, once they get over the shock of seeing Tim’s face, but Rhys could worry about that later. 

Tim looked surprised. “I wasn’t expecting to meet them. I thought...well I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think you’d want me around, after.”

His surprise was a surprise for Rhys. He hadn’t even considered not bringing Tim home. “What, did you think I was just going to ditch you as soon as we hit the ground? I dragged you away with nothing but the shirt on your back, I’m not going to leave you to figure how to survive Pandora alone.”

Tim ducked his head, and it was hard to tell from this angle but Rhys thought he looked pleased. His ears had turned an adorable shade of pink. “Thanks, really. You shouldn’t feel obligated, I’ve managed by myself before.”

“C’mon buddy.” Rhys bumped their shoulders together just to watch Tim’s blush grow. “I know you’re a hard ass, but you don’t have to do the lone wolf thing anymore. My hellhole of a planet is much more tolerable with friends around.”

Tim looked up at him then with a tiny smile, and yeah, Rhys could definitely get used to seeing more of that.

Rhys stretched himself out in his seat as the plan came together neatly in his head. “When we land we’ll make our way to Hollow Point, that’s my home town. It might not look like much to someone used to the good life on Helios, but it’ll be a start. When I get paid, we’ll have enough money to do whatever we damn well please.” He tipped his head back and thought dreamily of the future. “The first thing I’m going to do is buy one of those massive houses on Eden-5, with a bath big enough to swim in. Then I’ll fill the bath with champagne, and shoes, definitely lots of shoes.”

“Probably not at the same time, though,” Tim said, and there it was, that gentle teasing side he only showed when he felt truly comfortable. Rhys felt like running a victory lap.

“Nah, it’ll be fine, that big ass house will have at least two pool-sized baths to be filled with whatever the hell I want.” He grinned and laced his hands behind his head. “I can finally give up the con artist gig. Maybe I’ll get into tech, seed a couple of start-ups. I’ve always wanted to be an entrepreneur.” He tipped his knee against Tim’s. “What about you, lone wolf? Ever considered a career change?”

Tim blinked, looking dazed. “I’ve...never really thought about it. Before J--before this job I was in college, and I don’t really have any other skills.”

“C’mon Tim, dream big! Go wild, whatever you want, I’ll help you make it happen. You helped make all this possible, it’s the least I could do.”

Tim chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I like growing things,” he said hesitantly, like he was waiting for Rhys to laugh in his face. “Maybe something to do with plants?”

That was going to be tough. Pandora didn’t really grow things other than psychos and feral wildlife. But he wasn’t about to piss on Tim’s parade. He reached out and patted Tim’s arm. “Sounds like a solid start, buddy. You keep thinking and we’ll figure it out together.”

And yeah, that was a 10 out of 10 smile right there. Tim looked like Rhys had just promised him the moon.

Rhys wouldn’t consider himself a bad person. Well, yes, he did just steal billions of dollars’ worth of corporate property, but that was just business. Besides, Handsome Jack was well overdue for some karmic payback. Rhys knew he wasn’t technically a good guy, either, but he was sure of this: getting Timothy Lawrence out of Jack’s reach was a Good Thing. 

The shuttle bumped along as they entered Pandora’s atmosphere. Tim looked a little green so Rhys kept his hand on Tim’s arm. He thought about what Tim might want from him. He wasn’t blind to the looks Tim gave him sometimes. Rhys knew he was a good-looking guy, and he knew from experience what people looked like when they wanted him. If he had any doubts before, Tim had made himself pretty clear with that kiss. The memory of it made something twist in his belly and he shoved it down. Tim wasn’t Handsome Jack, sure, but Jack had left his mark, quite literally _(Don’t think about it don’t)_ , and Rhys wasn’t sure if he could give Tim what he wanted. 

All he knew was that he didn’t want to let Tim down, because Tim deserved better. If he couldn’t give Tim what he wanted, he could at least be a good friend to Tim. It was as good a place to start as any other. Whatever happened next, they could take it a day at a time.

They were nearing Pandora’s surface now, and Rhys felt the excitement boil up inside him again. He checked his comms which he had muted during the flight, then frowned when he saw he had a dozen missed calls from his sisters. A shadow of unease crept over him. He dialled Fiona’s ECHO and was patched through instantly.

“Rhys, what the fuck! Where have you been? Why haven’t you picked up?” Fiona’s voice was strained with fury, but it was that particular kind of angry she got when she was really worried. She didn’t sound like someone who had just landed 10 million dollars.

“Whoa, hey, slow down, what’s going on?” Rhys got to his feet, driven up by the tone of her voice. Tim shot him a concerned look. “What happened?"

“It’s the Atlas deal, Rhys! That stuff you sent me was nothing but a bunch of dick pics and malware, my guy at Atlas is pissed, he’s threatening to hunt us down! What happened up there, Rhys?”

“What?” The world greyed out for a second. There was a high-pitched whine in his ear. “No, that’s not possible. I hacked Jack’s account, I found what Atlas wanted.” His heart felt like it was going to burst. “What about the money?”

“There is no money! They’re not going to pay for pictures of Handsome Jack’s dick, Rhys. Where is the Archangel project data?”

His legs gave out underneath him. Dimly he was aware of Tim catching him and easing him back into his seat, but all Rhys could do was try and suck in air around the strangling grip around his chest. He let Tim fold him down until his head was between his knees. _Don’t_ , he wanted to say, _I’m going to puke_. But he was hyperventilating too hard to get the words out.

“Rhys? Rhys, are you there? What’s going on?” Fiona’s voice was very tinny, buzzing like a gnat in his ear. Before he could answer there was a jump of static, and her call was cut off by another signal.

“Rhysie, kitten, how’s it going?” Jack’s voice came through loud and clear, like something out of a nightmare. “Have you delivered my present to Atlas yet?”

“Jack?” he said weakly. He felt Tim tense up beside him but Rhys couldn’t spare any energy to worry about him now. Not when the blackhole yawning open in his belly was sucking away all his joy. “What did you do?”

“Oh, just a little cyber magic, baby. You’re not the only hacker around, you know.” Jack sounded like he was grinning. “As soon as my code hits Atlas’ system it’ll start eating away at everything of value. Those dumb fucks thought they could pull one over me, well, their stocks are gonna be worth less than skag shit in about, oh, two hours. And it’s all thanks to you, sweetcheeks! I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

Jack laughed then, that same laugh he gave whenever he was finished with Rhys, leaving him wrung out and gasping _(don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t)_ \--

Rhys fell to his knees and retched. Bile splashed the floor, his clothes, his trembling hands. There wasn’t going to be any money. It had been a trap. Jack had used him, in every sense of the word, and everything he had endured was all for nothing. 

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of nausea swept over him, threatening to pull him under. He thought he had won, but he got too cocky. His luck had finally run out.

And now there was going to be hell to pay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to Act 2, AKA: let's see how many tropes I can squeeze into this baby. Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos or commented. It has been a pleasure and a privilege, and I hope you continue to enjoy my little self indulgent story.

Jack was still talking. He always did love the sound of his own voice. Rhys tried to block it out, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands. “You took your sweet time, didn’t you, kitten? I mean, I know I’m dynamite in the sack, but you need to work on your priorities. I’m sure Atlas would love to know that you spent more time getting on my dick than getting the job done. Can’t say I’m surprised though, you were a pretty shitty PA.”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “Go fuck yourself.”

Jack chuckled. “C’mon Rhysie, don’t be like that, we had our fun, didn’t we?”

If Rhys had anything left in his stomach he would have puked again. “You knew exactly what you were doing this whole time. You used me.”

“Well, the original plan was just to make you my patsy and not mix business with pleasure, but you were so keen for this hero dick. I thought it would be cruel to deny you the privilege.”

“You manipulative asshole--”

“Sticks and stones, cupcake. You came to steal from me, remember? I’m the real victim here. Besides,” Jack purred, his voice dropping into a mockery of intimacy, “you could have stopped it any time you wanted. But you didn’t. And that’s on you, sweetcheeks.”

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut against that awful truth. Jack was right. He got too greedy. He only had his eyes on the money, and he never did say stop. That was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

“Nothing to say for yourself, huh? Well, that’s fine, this conversation is getting boring anyway. Enjoy yourself while you can, babe, cuz you’re a dead man walking. I bet Atlas is real keen to have a chat with you right about now.”

 _Sash and Fi,_ he thought with horror. His sisters now had a target on their heads too, because of him. And, god, Tim. He had dragged Tim out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. 

But, oh, Jack hadn’t said anything about Tim. Clearly he hadn’t yet realised. Rhys felt his lips pull back into a grin. Judging by the look on Tim’s face, it was not a pretty one. “Hey Jack, notice anything missing? Turns out I’m a better thief than you thought.”

There was a suspicious silence from the other end of the line. A small, vicious joy flared to life inside him. It was a pyrrhic victory, but he was so far in the red right now that he would take even the smallest inch gained.

He hung up on Jack, another tiny win. 

There was a warm hand on his shoulder. Tim was looking down at him with concern. Rhys shuddered at the sight of that face, even though he knew it was Tim, not Jack, but it was instinctive. He only hoped Tim hadn’t noticed. 

“We should go,” Tim said. They had landed. 

Rhys rose on shaking legs and stepped back onto Pandora, a million miles away from the man who had first left it four months and an eternity ago. His mouth was sour and his mind was numb, but Rhys put one foot in front of the other, because there was no other alternative. Tim’s hand was a steadying presence at his back. 

He had to keep it together, for his sisters, and for Tim. He had gotten them all into this mess and it was his responsibility to get them out. There would be time for crying over spilt milk later. 

*

Tim tried to keep an eye on Rhys as he drove. The other man was turned away, head pressed against the passenger side window, that lanky body curled up into itself. He hadn’t spoken a word since they landed. Tim had caught enough of the call with Jack to get the gist. He yearned to offer a little comfort, but he had never been very good with words, and Rhys looked like he did not want to be touched. 

So he drove, because it was something he could do. 

He could still hardly believe this was real. Up in that shuttle terminal he had been prepared to give Rhys up, the way he had given up his identity and his autonomy. Watching Rhys leave had been like taking a knife to the gut, but Tim could live with the pain if it meant Rhys would be safe. But Rhys had surprised him. He must have felt Jack’s heavy hand at his neck with each passing minute, but he had waited for Tim. Rhys had offered him friendship and salvation in his open hand. It took every ounce of Tim’s courage to reach out and take it. 

The urge to run back to Helios--back to Jack--was a fish hook in his gut, tugging with each mile he put between them and the life he knew. If he went back now, before it was too late, if he begged, Jack might forgive him. Tim had fucked up before and Jack always forgave him. 

But he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Rhys on his own. Since arriving on Pandora, Rhys looked like some essential spark inside him had been snuffed out. Jack had done that. That thought was enough to harden Tim’s resolve and keep his foot on the gas. 

Jack had been a part of him for so long it was hard to tell where he ended and Timothy Lawrence began. Tim wasn’t sure if he could survive a separation, but if Rhys believed in him, then he could be brave.

There was a crackle of static, then Jack’s signal pinged his ECHO. “Timmy,” Jack crooned in his ear. “What are you doing off Helios? I don’t remember giving you permission to leave.”

Tim flexed his hands on the steering wheel but didn’t answer. It was a struggle not to; it was instinct to respond when Jack called his name, but he could fight it. He would try his best.

“I gotta say, pumpkin, I’m real disappointed. I mean, I get it, Rhysie’s a sweet piece of ass, but stop thinking with your dick for a second, Timmy. Are you really going to give up everything we had for a little Pandoran slut? I know I taught you better than that.”

It was true, Jack had taught him everything worth knowing: how to outdraw an enemy, how to focus on the job, how to kill everything he loved until he was the perfect tool for Jack to wield. But that wasn’t enough, not anymore. 

He could sense Jack’s rising impatience; he never did like being ignored. But Jack must really be trying, because when he spoke again his voice was still steady and sweet in Tim’s ear. “C’mon Timmy, you know that little twinkie is a con artist, right? It’s literally his job to lie. Whatever he’s promised you, it ain’t gonna happen. He’s just using you, pumpkin, and once he’s done with you he’ll toss you aside, just like everyone else. But not me, Timmy, old Jack is always here for you. Just snap his neck, come back home, and all will be forgiven. I know I haven’t been paying you much attention lately, but I'll be better. We’ll work through it, we always do. So what do you say?”

 _Do you trust me?_ Rhys had said, and the answer was as clear to Tim as a ringing bell. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, Timtam, you’re testing my patience.”

Tim opened up his comm. It took work to keep his voice steady. “Goodbye, Jack.” He heard Jack’s sharp intake of breath, but he cut the line before Jack could speak again. It was like lancing an infection - a sharp pain, then growing relief at the release of poison. 

Rhys stirred at the sound of his voice and looked over. He seemed dazed, like he had gone somewhere deep inside himself and was only now finding his way back out. He wiped a hand over his face and looked down at himself in vague disgust. “Where are we going?” he said.

“You mentioned Hollow Point,” Tim answered. “Seemed like as good a place as any.”

But Rhys was already shaking his head. “No, we can’t. My sisters are there. If Atlas is out for my blood, I’d be leading the danger straight to them.”

“Do you have anywhere else you can go?”

Rhys chewed his lip. “Not sure. I need somewhere quiet to think.” He looked down at his clothes and grimaced. “And a shower.”

Tim checked his mental map of the region. “I know somewhere we can go for a little while. It’s not much but it keeps the wildlife out.”

“Sure, I trust you.”

Tim’s heart jumped, but Rhys had already gone back to staring out the window again. 

Tim couldn’t go back. Rhys needed him. He had done a lot of wrong in his life, but maybe now he would have a chance to redeem himself. It wouldn’t be enough to repay the blood debt he had accumulated--not even close--but it was a start. 

*

The shack was a little worse for wear than the last time he had been by, but it was upright and had not been raided by bandits, so Tim was grateful for small mercies. Over the years he had established a number of these safe sites throughout Pandora. They were somewhere to rest and recover in between missions, and he was fairly certain even Jack didn’t know about all of them.

This one used to be a prospector’s hut, but by the time Tim had come across it had been long abandoned, the previous inhabitants either dead or moved on. It was tucked into the side of a mountain, and had the near miraculous benefit of having pipes tapped into an underground water source. The water that came out of the taps was an unappealing shade of brown and smelled faintly of eggs, but it was drinkable. 

Rhys looked around the shabby single room, blinking in the gloom after stepping out of the glaring sun. In his nice if now stained clothes he looked like a distant noble descended to visit his serfdom. Tim expected him to make a disparaging comment, but Rhys surprised him by smiling. “This looks great, Tim, thanks.”

Caught out, and not a little stunned by that smile, Tim said faintly, “There’s an outdoor shower, just behind the outhouse.”

Rhys moaned with pleasure. “Oh my god, that’s amazing, you’re amazing.” He immediately headed out to investigate, and Tim kept himself busy sorting through the food stash he had left last time to find something still edible. He tried very hard not to think about Rhys standing bare and pale under the water, sunlight glowing in his wet hair. 

Rhys’ improved mood evaporated over their scanty dinner of energy bars and canned beans. He picked listlessly at his food, chin propped on one hand like a child made to eat his vegetables. 

Tim cast around for something to say. “Have you heard from your sisters?”

Rhys shook his head, staring at his plate. “I told them to lie low and wait for my call. I don’t want to make things any harder for them than I already have.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and puffed out a breath. “We’ll need money, and options. We spent most of our savings on setting up this job because we thought, well, we thought there would soon be much more.”

Tim thought about what he could offer. Jack had paid him generously over the years and he had saved up a good amount, but all of it was tied up in Hyperion accounts. He could take up side jobs in bounty hunting, but he couldn’t feasibly do so without putting Rhys in danger. Then there was the issue of his face. Handsome Jack was not a popular man on Pandora, not least because Tim had been cutting his way through the bandit population over the years. Jack may be a hero on Helios, but down here he was a bogeyman, the kind people threatened wayward children with. In most places the citizens might be inclined to shoot him just on principle. 

But that was a bridge he could cross when he came to it. “Whatever you need, I’ll be here,” Tim said. He could be whatever Rhys needed him to be. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer. 

Rhys gave him a tremulous smile. “Thanks, I really appreciate that. I was thinking we should head for New Haven. It’s not too far. I know people there who might be able to help, and it’s big enough for us to blend in for a little while if Atlas came looking.”

It was as good a plan as any. As long as Tim had breath in his body he would keep Rhys safe. If he had to have more blood on his hands, then at least this time it would be for something worthwhile.

*

Things took a turn for the awkward when it came time to turn in for the night. There was only one bed, barely big enough for a grown man, let alone two. They both stared at it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Tim dreaded the possibility of having to spend a night huddled up against Rhys’ long limbs ( _Liar,_ that new voice in his head said). It would be uncomfortable for a number of reasons. 

“I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll sleep on the floor,” Rhys said.

Tim jumped a little, startled from his thoughts. “No, no, that’s fine, you take the bed. I can rough it for a night, I’ve done worse.”

Rhys gave him a sly look. “Yeah, I bet you sleep best on a pile of bandit corpses, huh? You don’t have to impress me, lone wolf, I already think you’re pretty great.”

Tim felt himself blush fiercely, even as his heart swelled with gladness at the glimpse of the old Rhys. They could neither of them be what they were before Jack remade them, but if he could give Rhys back even a fraction of his old self, then there was still hope.

They both turned in, Tim placing himself deliberately between Rhys and the door in case of any unwelcome visitors. He used his jacket for a pillow and kept his gun close at hand. Despite his earlier assurances to Rhys, it was less than comfortable, and he thought fleetingly of his bed back on Helios. But if the price of freedom was a sore back and a dirt floor, he would gladly pay a hundred times over. 

Nights on Pandora were never entirely silent. The wind carried sound from a long way away, and from time to time there came the screech of a rakk on the hunt, or distant bursts of gunfire. Tim tried to block those out, as well as the sound of quiet sniffles coming from the cot, but sleep was almost impossible. He was keenly aware of Rhys, the way a compass needle was aware of true north. 

Part of him also missed Jack terribly. It was an ache in his chest that twinged with each breath. Jack must be apoplectic, and Tim could only imagine the damage he would be inflicting on any poor unfortunates who might find themselves in his sights. He hoped Jack would be okay, one day. For all that Jack had his faults, Tim still wished he could have ended things on better terms. But he had made his choice, and he would have to live with it. 

The cot creaked next to him. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. He felt the weight of eyes on him, and cracked his own open to find Rhys peeking over the edge of the bed. The ECHOeye was an eerie light in the gloom. 

“You okay?” Tim said softly. Maybe Rhys needed an extra blanket, the desert nights could get cold. 

Rhys was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “I fucked up, Tim. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. If you want to leave, that’s okay, you should. I’m only going to slow you down.” 

_Never,_ Tim wanted to say. Instead he whispered, “Go to sleep, Rhys, we’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

Rhys bowed his head, but some of the tension left him. He let out a little sigh. “Thanks, Tim. I’m glad you’re here.”

Tim felt his chest tighten. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” It felt too bold, like a declaration shouted from the mountain top, but Rhys just nodded. 

“G’night, Tim.”

“G’night.”

*

Rhys spent the night tossing and turning, brain spinning like a wheel. He might have cried a little (or a lot), but that was between him and whatever gods that watched over liars and thieves. Eventually he had drifted off to the sound of Tim’s soft breathing. 

When he woke up the sun was streaming in through the single window. Rhys watched the dust motes wheeling gently through the rays of light and felt numb. He knew he should be working on a plan to get them out of this mess, but he had so far been incapable of doing anything other than browse through the extensive catalogue of his fuck ups. If only he hadn’t been so greedy, if only he had never heard of Handsome Jack, if only... Wallowing was counterproductive but grimly satisfying, like poking an oozing wound. He sniffled and scrubbed a hand over his face. At least Tim wasn’t here to witness how pathetic he was right now.

With a jolt he realised he was alone. Oh god, Tim was gone. Were they under attack? Or worse, did Tim take his words to heart and leave in the night? He had said those things because it was the right thing to do, he had dragged Tim into this mess, but god, if Tim was really gone-- Rhys tumbled out of bed, scraping his knees, and wrenched open the front door. 

The light blinded him for a second and he threw up a hand, wincing. When his eyes adjusted Rhys felt his breath catch in his throat.

Tim was just outside the door, finishing his workout. The morning sun cast him in gold and threw the strong lines of his body into sharp relief. His singlet was damp with sweat and clung to the muscles of his back. What Rhys could see of his bared skin was a roadmap of scars. 

Tim looked around, his cheeks flushed with exertion. “Did I wake you? Sorry.” His hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it back with a hand. 

“No,” Rhys started weakly, then cleared his throat. “No, it’s okay, I’m just, uh, hungry. Breakfast?”

Tim smiled ruefully. “Energy bars again, I’m afraid. We’ll get some actual food at the next stop.” He picked up his discarded shirt and shrugged into it. Rhys bit back a sound of protest. “I’ll have a quick wash and I’ll be ready to go. Why don’t you see if there’s anything useful we can take with us?”

“Sure,” Rhys said. Why, out of all the faces in the universe, did Tim have to wear Jack’s? Not for the first time Rhys thought that life was intensely unfair. 

*

Driving through the Rust Commons was never a pleasant experience, made even less so by the fact that Rhys was the one who had to do the driving. It made sense, given that out of the two of them, Tim was definitely better qualified to pick off spiderants and swooping rakks from a moving vehicle, but it didn’t mean Rhys had to like it. He gritted his teeth as they went over another rock at speed, the wheels of their car leaving the ground for what felt like an eternity before landing with a bone-rattling thump. 

Tim was hanging half way out the passenger window carrying a type of gun Rhys only recognised as Really Fucking Big. For a terrifying second he was sure the other man would be tossed from the car, but Tim only swayed with the motion, his legs braced firmly against the interior. There was a burst of gunfire, and the spiderant leaping for them disintegrated into a mess of guts and carapace that splattered into the windscreen. Rhys felt his stomach churn as the wipers only managed to smear the mess around. 

“Damn it.” His ECHOeye blinked into action, and a HUD map of their way ahead rose up from his right hand. There were a lot of red blips between them and the marker for New Haven. He hoped to whatever deities currently listening that Tim had enough bullets to take them all. 

“You okay?” Tim shouted over the rushing wind, like Rhys was the one risking his neck dangling out of a speeding vehicle. He kept his eyes firmly trained through the scope of his gun. His profile was every poster of Handsome Jack in action that Rhys had ever worshipped, a lifetime ago. 

Rhys swallowed back his fear and pushed his foot down harder on the gas. “Yeah, just don’t die, okay?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t drive us off a cliff.”

“Ha ha,” Rhys grouched. “I’m a great driver, thanks.” The grinding screech of stone on metal as they went over another rock punctuated his words. Oof. Hopefully that hadn’t scraped off anything important. From the corner of his eye he saw Tim grin, the bastard. 

By the time they pulled up to New Haven’s borders the car was covered in gore and coughing a death rattle, but they had made it in one piece. Rhys had gripped the steering wheel so hard he was now having trouble peeling his cramping fingers off. Fuck but he was sweaty. He puffed out a long breath that turned into a hysterical giggle. If you took away the constant terror of being swarmed by spiderants or slamming into a boulder and flying out the windscreen head first, that had actually been kind of fun.

Tim was dismantling his gun, and raised an eyebrow at the sound of his laugh. He looked like he had just been for a relaxing Sunday drive. Even his hair was stylishly windswept. It just wasn’t fair. “You sure you’re okay?” Tim asked.

“I think I’m gonna give up the conman life and turn to vault hunting,” Rhys said, just to watch Tim’s eyebrows climb. “That was kinda thrilling, not gonna lie.”

“Sure, only you might want to work on not cringing so hard every time a gun goes off nearby.”

“Hey, some of us have a very healthy fear of death, okay? We can’t all be total badasses.”

They made their way into town. Tim had changed into a hooded jacket, and he pulled the hood over until it shadowed his face. He also had a dark scarf pulled up over his nose, leaving only his eyes glittering out from the narrow gap. The overall effect was vaguely menacing, but he would fit in well with the less savoury residents of New Haven. Rhys himself had borrowed one of Tim’s jackets that swam on his lankier frame, even as his wrists stuck out comically. His pants and skagskin boots had seen better days, but Rhys wasn’t going to give those up without a fight. His cybernetics would draw some curiosity, but he was relying on Tim looking like enough trouble that most people would leave them be. It helped that Tim walked with dangerous intent and had a gun strapped to his thigh. Rhys patted his hip pocket where the stun baton was nestled like a talisman. 

They found a tavern near the edge of town whose peeling sign announced it to be the Wet Whistle. It looked just seedy enough that they could meet with some of Rhys’ shadier contacts without getting knifed while they waited. 

The proprietor, a hard-edged woman who could be anywhere between 35 and 50, gave Rhys a quick head-to-toe scan before dismissing him. Her eyes narrowed at Tim, but she didn’t make any comment. There were any number of reasons people covered their faces on Pandora, and the more ornery ones tended to shoot first if anyone made a fuss. 

They slotted themselves into a corner booth. Rhys jittered with nerves until Tim placed a warm hand on his arm. It was hard to make out his expression behind the scarf, which was both a disappointment and a relief, but his eyes were crinkled like he was giving Rhys a reassuring smile. Rhys noticed that Tim had angled himself so he could block Rhys from the majority of the room while still keeping an eye on the exits. Those broad shoulders made for a good barrier. He let out a shaky breath and shot Tim a grateful smile. 

He scanned the menu, barely able to make sense of the words. He had been starving earlier but nerves had taken his appetite. They had passed a bounty board on their way into town, but a quick scan had shown no rewards out for Rhys or the girls. Either Atlas had decided to give them a pass, or someone had already put a claim to their bounty. Rhys hoped it was the former, but he was a realist. A perverse part of him hoped Atlas had put an appropriately high price on his head. It would be embarrassing to die for anything less than half a million. 

A waiter came around and dropped two plates of fried breakfast and coffee on their table. Tim pushed one of the plates under Rhys’ nose. “You should eat something.”

Rhys made a vague noise, too busy pouring three packets of sugar into his coffee. That first hit of syrupy black sludge was heaven. He groaned and sank back into his seat. 

“Have you made contact with anyone yet?” Tim asked.

Rhys’ heart dropped. Making their way to New Haven seemed like progress, and was better than curling up and dying, but now that they were here he realised there were only a handful of people he could reach out to for help. Of those, there were exactly zero he could trust not to screw him over for a half-decent bounty. The trouble with living a life of crime was that all your contacts end up being criminals. 

He thought about how to break the news to Tim. But before he could, his ECHO pinged, twisting Rhys’ stomach in a way that was becoming distressingly familiar. Sure enough, Jack’s voice came through with all the pleasantness of a dentist’s drill.

“Hey kiddos, miss me yet?”

Tim’s head ticked like he was listening. A conference call then. 

“Timmy, pumpkin, I was hoping you’d come to your senses after sleeping on it, but Rhysie must be pulling out all the stops if you’re still following him like a sad little puppy. I know you’d roll over for anyone who throws you a bone, but c’mon, you can do better than my sloppy seconds, I don’t care how well he sucks dick.”

Tim shot him a look and shook his head. _Don’t engage_. But dread was turning into anger. How dare Jack turn this into something sordid. “Tim is helping me because he’s a friend and a good human being, two things you’d never understand,” Rhys hissed.

Jack paused, then gave an incredulous laugh. “Wait wait wait, are you telling me Timtam is out there risking his neck for your sorry ass and you haven’t even had the decency to give him a blowie? Oh this is so great. Timmy, you are missing out. Rhysie might be a dirty little thief but he’s got real talent in the bedroom. The shit we got up to, mh _mm_ , I got videos, remind me to ECHO you a couple sometime.”

The coffee soured in his gut. For a second Rhys thought he might puke on his untouched breakfast. He had no idea Jack had made recordings. The thought was such a violation it made his skin crawl.

Tim gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Rhys shuddered but breathed through his panic. He could do this. He had managed to escape Helios in one piece, he would come up with a plan if only out of spite, and Tim was going to help him get back home. It was going to be okay.

Jack continued on unbothered. “Tell you what, Rhysie. Why don’t we let bygones be bygones and talk like adults, hmm? I know you’re in a bit of a tight spot, but we can help each other out. How about this: I’ll double Atlas’ offer if Timtam gives up this ridiculous little adventure of yours and makes his way back home. Hell, I’ll triple it, why the fuck not?”

The words were a shot of pure adrenaline. Rhys felt his heart race as he darted a glance at Tim, who had turned his head away. 30 million! That would more than solve all his problems, it was more money than he had ever dared to dream of. His mouth watered as he considered exactly what that much money could do for his family. The temptation was strong even as he knew better than to trust Jack. It would be so easy to say yes. 

Tim still hadn’t looked at him. Tim’s hands were fisted on the table and his chest heaved with each breath, but he didn’t say anything. With a sinking heart Rhys realised Tim was going to let himself be sold off without a word of protest. He could easily kill Rhys, disappear into the Pandoran desert and make a life for himself, but instead Tim would let Jack put that leash back around his neck without a fight because it was what Tim thought he deserved. 

If Rhys said yes, then Jack would win. He would rather die than concede another fucking inch. “Take your money and burn it, Jack,” he spat. “You’re not getting your hands on either one of us ever again.”

Tim’s head snapped around. It was hard to make out his expression under the scarf, but his eyes were wide with shock. Rhys gave him a wobbly smile. It felt amazingly good to do the right thing; he only hoped he would live long enough to enjoy the feeling. 

Jack’s sneer was audible. “A thief with a conscience, huh? That’s cute, Rhysie, that’s real cute. It’s admirable that you want to play at being the good guy, I just hope that new found altruism comes with a bullet-proof shield.”

His call cut off with a jump of static. All the air left Rhys in a rush as he fell back into his seat. He gave Tim a tremulous laugh. “Well, that went better than I th--”

“People of Pandora!” Jack’s voice resounded through the room. Heads lifted warily as the sound came from every speaker, every connected device, echoing through the tavern, New Haven and beyond. “Handsome Jack here, your hero. A little thief by the name of Rhys Strongfork stole something from me, and I need your help to track him down. I’m ECHOing a picture of him to everyone on this shit ball of a planet riiight about now. I will pay 30 million in cold hard cash to anyone who brings Rhys to me, whole or in pieces, I don’t really care. I want his head on a plate, so don’t disappoint me, kiddos. Oh, and one more thing.” Jack’s voice dropped to a silky purr. “This little turd merchant is travelling with a guy who looks just like yours truly. If anyone touches a hair on my double’s head, I will personally pull your balls off and feed it to you. Happy hunting!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.

The scrape of chairs over the ground was very loud in the suddenly quiet room. People put aside their meals and rose with intent, eyes fixed on the booth where Tim and Rhys were cornered. Tim made a rapid assessment: maybe two dozen people, mostly unarmed, but every face was drawn with violent focus. They were not going to get out of this without a fight. 

He got to his feet, keeping himself between Rhys and the gathering crowd. He kept his movements slow and steady, his arms out by his side, palms down and away from his gun. “Please, we don’t want any trouble,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “Just let us leave and everyone can walk away.” It was probably futile, but he had to try. 

“You can leave, we just want pretty boy there,” one man called out.

Rhys had shrunk back into his seat. He looked like a deer staring at an oncoming truck, seconds from disaster but frozen to the spot. Tim’s heart lurched in his chest. Rhys had turned down 30 million for him, and for that, Jack was going to have Rhys killed. Tim faced the crowd and dropped a hand onto his gun. “I can’t let you take him.”

The closest man spat at his feet. “You shouldn’t have come here, Hyperion.” His words sent a ripple of violence through the crowd behind him. Tim braced himself. The crowd surged forward.

He whipped the coffee pot into a snarling face and threw his plate at another. It bought him enough time to flip their table onto its side and shove Rhys behind it. “Stay down.” He ripped off his shields and slapped them onto Rhys. It was the best Hyperion tech money could buy and covered Rhys with a faint shimmer. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”

“Tim--” Rhys made a grab for him but Tim was already vaulting over their makeshift shelter. He kicked one guy in the chest and swung a chair into the face of the next one, then used the splintered legs to knock out another. He couldn’t afford to bring out the digijacks in here; there would be no survivors, and these weren’t bandits but people, ordinary people driven by greed and hatred for Jack and all that he stood for. He didn’t want to draw his gun, but they kept coming. When someone managed to catch him in a choke hold Tim pulled his pistol and shot the guy in the foot, then swung his screaming bulk into the next wave.

In the flash of gunfire everything moved in staccato jerks. He aimed for extremities rather than centre mass. It was enough to incapacitate, to make getting back up seem like a really bad idea. 

It was over in minutes. Those who hadn’t fled were laid out on the floor, whimpering or unconscious. No one was dead, but nobody was going to be particularly happy either. “Rhys?” he called out as he holstered his pistol. They should get moving, before the commotion drew more people he had to shoot.

There was a soft click, then something metal shoved against the back of his head. Tim stopped and very slowly raised his empty hands. 

It was a rookie mistake, turning his back on the room before he had swept it, but he had been too focused on Rhys, and now they were both going to die. Stupid, so stupid.

The proprietor who had given him the stink eye earlier now emerged from behind the counter, holding a crude shotgun to his head. It was a basic model, but at this range it would certainly get the job done. Tim considered his options. It would take a second to reach the trigger that would bring out the digijacks. Hard to say whether he could do so before she blew his head off. 

“Please, don’t shoot!” Rhys stood up from behind his makeshift shelter, hands held open and empty above his head. Tim shook his head in warning, but Rhys ignored it, the stubborn idiot. He made his slow way toward them, drawing her attention even as she kept the gun trained on Tim.

“Stay back,” Tim snapped. Even the shields couldn’t completely deflect a shotgun blast at point blank range. But Rhys just shot him a wide-eyed look and kept coming.

“Please,” Rhys said, lowering his hands placatingly. “We didn’t mean to bring you so much trouble. We just want to leave. I know Jack promised a lot of money, but you can’t trust anything he says.”

She spat at his feet. “I don’t want Hyperion’s blood money. I want to see this fucker’s face.” She nudged Tim’s cheek with the gun barrel. “You’ve got some moves on you, pal. This isn’t the first crowd you’ve put down, is it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” he said. “They gave me no choice.” 

She came around until she was staring him in the eyes. It meant she was between him and Rhys, but clearly she had dismissed Rhys as a possible threat. Her face was tight with hatred as her finger twitched on the trigger, like she was fighting the urge to blow him away right now. “There’s a town nearby called Shady Well,” she said, “not that there’s much left of it these days, not since a Handsome Jack lookalike visited a couple years back. My sister used to live there, until he killed her and everyone else in the place. Sound familiar?”

Tim’s heart sank. The name of the place rang a bell, but the fact that he couldn’t immediately recall it was a grim reflection of just how common that story was. Jack had spent years searching for his vault key, and Tim had followed orders without question. He had done it for love and for duty, but that didn’t justify anything.

He always knew his past would catch up to him eventually. If he had his doubts about whether or not he was a hero, he understood with complete certainty that he didn’t deserve a hero’s end. Dying in a shithole on Pandora was its own kind of poetic justice, but he hadn’t expected the excoriating trial of having all his bloody accounts dragged out and exposed in front of the one person who was still on his side. It was hard to look at Rhys; he didn’t want the potential look of horror or disgust in Rhys’ eyes to be the last things he would ever see. 

The gun nudged him again. “Show me your face,” she said. “I want to know who I’m going to shoot.”

From the corner of his eye Tim saw Rhys creep a hand inside his pocket. Rhys was going to do something stupid and get himself killed. Tim couldn’t let that happen.

“Okay,” he said, and slowly moved a hand toward his face. At the last second he snapped his arm out and knocked the barrel aside. The roar of the gun was like a physical blow. He snatched the barrel and ripped it from her hands, swinging the butt of the gun at her snarling mouth. Before he could cave her face in there was a crackle of electricity. The woman flew backward into the counter and ragdolled to the floor. 

Rhys was staring at her in shock, a stun baton gripped in one fist. “Oh my god, is she dead?”

“She’ll be fine.” Probably. He grabbed Rhys by the arm and pulled him toward the back of the tavern. Through his ringing ears he could hear rising voices from beyond the front door. Trouble in this part of town was likely nothing unusual, but multiple gunshots were probably a bit much.

They burst through a back exit into a dim alley. The smell of garbage was almost a solid presence. Tim scanned the possible routes and chose the one leading further into the shadows. Those were definitely shouts coming from the other side of the building. They made their way into the warren of small alleys, the landscape changing from squat businesses to scrap heaps and dense industrial shapes. Tim had no idea where he was going, only turning away from wherever he could hear the sound of people. Rhys stumbled along behind him, white faced and silent.

They came up against a chain link fence in the narrow gap of several tall buildings. Tim could climb it, but there were only more of the same alleys beyond, and Rhys didn’t look like he was up to it right now. They needed a plan. He turned to Rhys and gripped him by the arms. “Rhys, I need you to pull up a map of the area.”

Rhys blinked at their surroundings like he was seeing an alien landscape. “What?”

They didn’t have time for this. But he couldn’t afford to rush. Tim took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. He took Rhys’ face in his hands and made the other man look at him. “Rhys, listen, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? We just need somewhere quiet to hunker down for a while. I need you to scan the buildings and find an empty one close by.” He ran a tender thumb along Rhys’ data port. “Can you do that for me?”

That seemed to trigger something. Rhys gasped, blinking rapidly like a man waking up, then nodded. The ECHOeye flared to life. Tim’s pulse hammered in his head with each passing second but he kept his face impassive.

“Here,” Rhys said at last, pointing at a shadowed doorway. 

“Is there anyone inside?” he asked. Rhys shook his head.

Tim tried the door, then put his shoulder against it. He could shoot out the lock but they couldn’t risk the noise right now. He braced his feet against the ground and strained. The door scraped open with a rusty groan that seemed to echo through the alley. A quick scan of the interior revealed nothing but inanimate shapes and a few rats.

“This is perfect, good job.” He gave Rhys a quick smile then tugged him inside and pushed the door shut. He left Rhys by the entrance as he made his way around the inside, checking for gaps or vulnerabilities. The place looked like it had been a car repair shop: husks of vehicles and broken parts littered the ground. There were bars on the windows and the roller shutters on the other side were firmly locked. Rhys had done good. They could hunker down here until it got dark and then make their way out again. 

Rhys was sitting with his back against the wall, head in his hands. The sight made Tim’s insides clench. He could bear whatever punishment Jack wanted to mete out, but not on Rhys, not like this.  _ Damn it, Jack.  _ For the first time in a very long time he felt the stirring of anger deep inside. He could feel the shape of it, toothy and growing larger below the surface, but he didn’t have time for it right now.

He crouched down beside Rhys and put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be okay here for a while. When it gets dark we can find a way out. Right now I need you to stay calm and quiet while I go to find us some supplies.”

“No!” Rhys gripped his jacket with both hands, breathing hard. “Don’t leave me here, please.”

Tim laid his hands over Rhys’ with great gentleness. “I’m just going to the car for our stuff and then I’ll be right back. It’s not safe for you to come out right now. This is the best place for you. Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise, but I need you to stay calm and let me do my thing, okay?” He tried to channel his sincerity as he gazed steadily into Rhys’ mismatched eyes. 

After what felt like a small eternity Rhys visibly drew himself together. He nodded, swallowing, and let go of Tim’s jacket. Tim’s chest swelled with pride and aching love: Rhys was braver than he could ever be. He gave Rhys a warm smile and patted his shoulder. “You’re doing so good, Rhys. I can leave my gun with you if it’ll make you feel better?”

Rhys shook his head, looking a little ill. That was probably for the best. A loaded pistol in the hands of a jumpy novice would cause more grief than anyone wanted. Tim gave his shoulder another squeeze then got to his feet. He hated the thought of leaving Rhys behind, but he had meant what he said. Everyone on the planet now had a picture of Rhys and 30 million reasons to want him dead. It would be much easier for Tim to move around alone.

He took a deep breath and felt himself settle into the familiar rhythm of the mission. His job was to keep Rhys alive and failure was not an option. He hated every second of having to shut the door on Rhys’ pale face, but he had no choice. The only way was forward.

*

Rhys had no idea how long he spent in that abandoned garage. His ECHOeye had a time display but the numbers had lost their meaning. Every noise made him jump, and after a while he couldn’t sit still anymore. He picked his way through the room, trying to be as quiet as possible, and found an old tire iron. Gripping it made him feel a little better; even he couldn’t screw up swinging it at someone if he had to. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to. He tried not to think about what would happen next, or his chances of survival. Probably less than an ice cube in hell. But Tim had promised to protect him, and that meant something. He wasn’t quite sure why Tim was still sticking around, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

It was dark when the door groaned open again. The tire iron whistled through the air but missed as the other man ducked easily.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just me,” Tim said.

Rhys felt weak with relief, then furious. He dropped the tire iron with a clang. “You said you wouldn’t take long!”

“Sorry,” Tim said. “It’s pretty chaotic out there.” As he stepped closer Rhys saw the blood on his jacket.

“Oh my god.” He rushed forward and put his hands on Tim. “What happened?” But Tim was solid and unharmed under his probing fingers. Rhys jumped as Tim’s hands covered his. 

“It’s okay, it’s not mine.” He could feel Tim’s heart beating steadily under his fingers. “Like I said, it’s been pretty crazy.”

Belatedly Rhys realised he was still wearing Tim’s shields. God, how selfish of him to hang onto it when Tim was risking his neck out there doing god only knew what. He fumbled to unclip it but Tim stilled his hands. “No, you hang onto it. I’m not the one with 30 million on my head.” He smiled ruefully when Rhys made a face. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Rhys saw that Tim had set a heavy looking duffle bag by his feet. “What’s that?”

“Supplies. There’s food in there if you’re hungry.”

All of a sudden Rhys realised that, yes, he was hungry. In fact, he was ravenous. He tore open the bag and gasped. “What--there’s a lot of guns in here.” 

“Oh yeah, the food’s in the side pocket.”

Rhys picked gingerly through the mound of weapons. There were definitely more guns in here than they started with. “Where did you get these? And when would we ever need so many?”

Tim shrugged. “I like to be prepared. And I, uh, borrowed these from some locals. That’s why it took me a little longer than expected. Be careful with the pockets, I’ve got some explosives on the other side.”

Rhys made another face. “Yeah, okay, you can definitely carry all that by yourself.” He very carefully felt around the outside pockets until he found an energy bar. When this was all over, he was never going to touch another one of these ever again. But for now he unwrapped it and crammed it into his mouth.

“Please tell me you have a plan, cuz I got nothing,” he said through a mouthful of peanut butter. Tim didn’t need to know he had spent the last few hours trying not to think about just how fucked he was. 

“Yeah.” Tim pulled a gun from the duffle bag and hefted the rest onto his shoulder. “We’ll head out when you’re ready.”

They made their way back into the alleys. For a moment Rhys wished for the false safety of the garage, at least there he wasn’t so exposed. But Tim moved with purpose, his hand warm around Rhys’ arm, and that made the going easier. Tim had said he would protect him, and Rhys believed him completely. If he had to be hunted like an animal by all of Pandora, at least he had Tim by his side. It could be worse. Hard to imagine, but it could be. 

Tim led them out of the maze of back alleys. As they got closer to the main streets Rhys could see the glow of something on fire on the horizon. It lit up half the night sky, and even from here he could hear the commotion rippling out from it like rings in a pond. 

“Was that you?” he asked, half in awe. 

Tim shrugged. “I needed to create a distraction. We’re here.”

There was an armoured car crouched in front of them, rippling with metal plating like muscles on an overgrown bullymong. There was even a turret on the roof. Rhys goggled. “You just found that on the street?”

“I borrowed it from our friend with all the guns.” Tim opened the door and ushered him in. “I need you to drive.”

Rhys groaned wholeheartedly but slid behind the wheel. There were a lot of switches and dials, but a quick scan with the ECHOeye and he had the gist of it. The car rumbled to life with a growl. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Away from here seems like a good start,” Tim said. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

As plans went it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t like Rhys had anything better. He put his foot down on the gas and they tore for the town borders.

*

They made their way out of New Haven without incident. As the lights of the town receded behind them Tim let himself relax fractionally. He kept the assault rifle on his lap as he sagged back into his seat. He had been running on adrenaline for hours now, and combined with the poor sleep the night before he was getting tired, which was bad. Not that any of this was good. 

This wasn’t just Atlas out for blood. For 30 million, every yokel with a gun would be after them. Some of them would be vault hunters. Tim was good, but he couldn’t fight off all of them, and he would need to sleep eventually. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up to them, and then Rhys would be a dead man. 

In the glow of the dashboard Rhys looked a little ragged. If he was having second thoughts about taking up Jack’s offer, he wasn’t sharing them. Tim considered their chances: they had to be lucky, every day, for the rest of their lives, but someone else only had to be lucky once. Those were terrible odds. Tim couldn’t let Rhys throw his life away for someone like him. 

“It’s not too late,” he said, heart beating slow and heavy in his chest. “If you call Jack and take his offer, he might still agree.”

“What?” Rhys gave him a startled look, then scowled. “No, fuck that guy, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Jack might think he can buy the world, but I’m not going to sell you off like a piece of meat. He doesn’t deserve you.”

All the breath left Tim’s body in a rush. Rhys had chosen him, and continued to choose him still. When was the last time anyone had done that? Love swelled up inside him like a tsunami, huge and roaring and terrifying, and Tim gave himself up to it wholeheartedly, trembling. He turned his face away so Rhys couldn’t see the wave breaking over him. It was too much, he didn’t deserve it, but Tim was weak and selfish, and he wanted it more than anything he could remember wanting in a very long time. 

If Rhys noticed anything amiss he didn’t mention it. He was too busy rummaging around the car, opening each of the compartments within reach. “You’d think a car like this would have some money stashed around. I’m not asking for much, just a few spare million or so. We’ve had a pretty shitty run for a while, I’m sure our luck’s about to turn.” He shot Tim a grin. “C’mon, don’t look at me like that, I’m a big believer in making my own luck, and if you don’t ask you never get, right?” He flipped down the sun visor, and a small photograph fluttered into his lap. Rhys held it up and did a double take. “Uh, Tim, who did you say you stole this car from again?”

“Some crime gang based in New Haven, I didn’t exactly have time to ask questions.” Tim frowned at the picture. The woman in it looked vaguely familiar. And then it hit him: she had been in Rhys’ photo from his room. “Is that your sister?”

Rhys opened his mouth, but before he could answer the radio crackled to life. A gruff male voice growled out at them. “You filthy thieving scumbag, you got some big balls stealing from me. When I catch up to you you’re gonna wish your mama swallowed you instead.”

Rhys looked stunned. “August?”

“The fuck? Rhys, is that you? You little shit--” The rest was cut off as Rhys turned off the radio with a snap. 

Tim frowned. “You know that guy?”

Rhys grimaced. “Yeah, he's a kind of frenemy, I guess? We help each other out sometimes, stab each other in the back sometimes, you know how it is. Also, he used to date Sash. Small world, huh?” He giggled, sounding a little manic. “You didn’t happen to shoot an old lady when you borrowed the car, did you? Scary looking woman, built like a brick shithouse with a big scar on her face and a taste for tacky fur coats?”

“No,” Tim said. He had tried to do things as quietly as possible. Setting the fire had been a grim necessity, but he had tried his best to make sure no one would be caught in the blaze. 

“Well, that’s a shame because now we’re fucked. More fucked.” Rhys chewed his nails as he steered with his metal arm. “Vallory never liked me, and now she’s got 30 million more incentives to murder me in hideously inventive ways.”

“She’ll have to get through me first,” Tim said firmly.

Rhys spared him a quick glance, and the smile on his face was small and tired. “You can’t fight off all of Pandora, Tim. I’m screwed sooner or later, but it’s not too late for you. You can still leave.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He looked behind them and lifted up his gun. “We’ve got company. Whatever happens, keep your eyes on the road and don’t stop.” He swung out of his seat and climbed out onto the turret, wind whipping at his hair and clothes. Behind them was a line of headlights, getting brighter. He counted at least a half dozen vehicles. If those cars caught up to them it would be all over. He couldn’t allow that.

The digijacks burst into form at the push of a button. “You,” he pointed at Number One, “keep our driver alive. You, stick with me.” The digijacks complied, though they didn’t look happy. Shortly after Number One ducked below Tim heard a yelp and the car jerked wildly. He probably should have given Rhys a heads up about the digistructs, but too late now. There was the sound of urgent voices below. He couldn’t make out the words over the wind, but the car steadied, and they kept moving forward. That was as good as things were going to get.

Number Two stood an inch above the roof with his arms crossed, giving Tim a sceptical look. “Is that skinny little twerp really worth all this trouble?” he said.

Tim glared at him, not that it ever had any effect. “I need your bullets, not your opinions. If you can’t do the job then I’ll swap you out for the other one.”

“He’s just going to say the same thing. Our AIs are identical, dumdum.” Number Two shook his head but took up position. “This is a stupid idea, but if you croak, we croak. I’m just making it crystal clear that we’re doing this purely out of self interest and not because we agree with your dumb life choices.”

“Noted,” Tim said drily. “Now let’s kill some bad guys.” 

He looked down the scope of his rifle at the approaching convoy. Seven vehicles, heavily armoured, still a ways away but catching up. Those cars were quicker, but Tim’s had a turret. He hoped Rhys wasn’t particularly attached to his ex-sorta-kinda-frenemy-in-law. 

He let their pursuers close the gap a little more before he fired up the mounted gun. The first spray of bullets sparked off the armour plating and cracked a windscreen, but it wasn’t enough to slow them down. He aimed instead for the wheels of the leading car. A line of sand jumped up as his bullets snaked toward the left front tire and caught. The car swerved madly, went over a boulder and flipped, taking out another nearby vehicle. A huge fireball rose up from the wreckage. The other cars weaved around it, gunning for them. Two down, five more to go.

A bullet pinged off the roof near his arm. Their pursuers were too far to make a good shot, but they might get lucky. He had to end it soon. Number Two was covering him, taking aim through his sniper rifle. A sharp pop from his gun, and a figure hanging out of the window of another car sagged. The digijack whooped. “Who’s your daddy, bitch?”

Tim sent another volley of bullets, aiming for the wheels, but their pursuers had smartened up, weaving across the ground with impressive coordination. Bursts of gunfire came from the reinforced windows, sending up sprays of sand on either side of their car. Several enemy rounds pinged off their rear, sending fine cracks across the back window. The car lurched underneath Tim as Rhys tried to dodge, navigating the rough landscape. It was difficult to aim with the motion, but Tim breathed long and slow through his mouth, lined up the turret, and let loose another volley. One of the remaining cars swerved, jerking wildly, and careened into a boulder with a violent crunch.

The wind had picked up, whipping sand and dirt into him. Tim hunched over the turret and took aim at the remaining four, but when he pulled the trigger again it clicked uselessly, empty. “Shit.” His assault rifle wasn’t going to do much damage against the armoured plating. He would have to let them get close, which meant they would be close enough to take Rhys out. 

“Forget our new friends, we’ve got bigger problems,” Number Two said, jerking his chin at Tim’s back. 

Tim turned and saw pure darkness sweeping across the horizon ahead, rolling in like ink spilling into water. The wind was howling now, whipping sand and debris into an almost physical force pushing against him. 

Sandstorms were semi regular occurrences in the desert and were generally considered Bad News. Even the fiercest wildlife sought shelter rather than risk being ripped apart by howling winds and flying rocks the size of trucks. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Tim swung back inside the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Rhys was dividing his attention between the storm up ahead and keeping a wary eye on Number One, who was smirking at him. It was hard to tell which one he looked more apprehensive about. He gave Tim a grimace. “Please tell me we’ve lost our friends.”

“Not yet, but we will.” Tim strapped himself into his seat. “I need you to head for the sandstorm. Don’t slow down.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Rhys groaned. “Oh my god you’re serious, you’ve got your serious face on. I hate my life.” Despite his protest he gripped the wheel and leaned into it, his ECHOeye flaring to life as a HUD map pulled up from his cybernetic hand. Tim could see a miniature display of themselves, a dot in the middle of the map moving rapidly toward the rolling wave of the storm. There were four dots not far behind them still, but they were slowing down. Good. He was counting on them being unable or unwilling to drive directly into a clusterfuck the way he and Rhys were doing. Rhys’ ECHOeye would be an advantage once visibility dropped to zero, though it wouldn’t do much to protect them against any debris thrown their way. As if on cue, a small skag was flung against the windscreen and splattered on impact. Rhys squeaked. The glass groaned but held. 

“Keep going,” Tim urged. Rhys gritted his teeth and put his foot down. 

Tim threw an arm across Rhys’ chest as they plunged into swirling darkness. The storm was upon them now. They were tossed like a leaf caught in a current, the car rocking alarmingly, wheels spinning each time one side was lifted off the ground. Over the sound of the battering wind he could hear Rhys cursing a blue streak as he wrestled the steering wheel. It was impossible to tell what the things they drove over were, only that the bumps got rougher and occasionally something soft popped under their wheels. Rhys had his eyes fixed on the HUD map, weaving his way as well as he could along the narrow path of flat ground between protruding rocks and sharp drop offs. The dots pursuing them had definitely eased off now; apparently even 30 million wasn’t enough incentive to keep going through one of Pandora’s deadly spectacles. 

Tim knew it was only a temporary respite. If they made it through the storm, there was no relief at the other end. Everyone on Pandora would be after them, and the only thing in their future was an eternity of looking over their shoulder. They could try and get off Pandora, though with no funds or contacts that would be no easy feat, and even if they did manage it, all the nearest planets were also within Hyperion’s sphere of influence. There was nowhere they could go that Jack wouldn’t find them.

It was hard to tell how long they drove for, but eventually Tim decided that they had well and truly shaken off their pursuit, at least for the time being. He gestured for Rhys to pull over. 

As soon as the car stopped Rhys slumped over the wheel and let out a heartfelt groan. “I think I shaved a couple years off my life just now.”

Tim patted his back and slid his hand up to knead at the back of Rhys’ tense neck. It was an unthinking gesture, and as soon as he did it he realised his mistake. Rhys let out a low moan that Tim could feel vibrate up his fingers tips. His skin was warm, and the ends of his hair brushed softly over Tim’s knuckles. He knew he should let go, but he was tired and weak, he could allow himself this one thing.

The digijacks made identical faces at him. Tim scowled and dismissed them. As the flash of blue sparks died away Rhys turned his head and pillowed it on his arm, his tired face peeking out at Tim. The gesture dislodged Tim’s hand and he let it fall, quietly mourning the loss.

Rhys blinked at where the digijacks had stood. “That’s really fucking weird, just so you know. When I saw the first one I thought I had finally lost it.”

“You get used to it,” Tim said. The digijacks were the closest thing he had to a constant companion over the years, barring Jack, which went a long way to show just how sad his life was. 

He hadn’t really thought much about it before, but having Rhys in his life was making him re-evaluate a lot of things that he had once thought were normal. And now that he had started letting himself want things, he wanted more. He wanted to live his own life, he wanted to stop shooting people, and above all he wanted Rhys. The pull was like a hook in his chest, tugging achingly with each breath. Looking at Rhys now, slumped weak and weary across the steering wheel, there was nothing Tim wanted more than to reach over and sink his hands into that soft head of hair. He wanted to climb into Rhys’ lap and press his mouth against the loops inked into his neck. He wanted to put his hands on Rhys and touch all of him, so warm and perfect and beautifully alive.

But that wasn’t something he could have. He could never forget the look on Rhys’ face that day in Opportunity, and the way he had flinched in Tim’s arms. He couldn’t bear that again. 

So he swallowed back his wanting, stuffing it back down until it sat heavy and hot in his gut. He had a job to do. “You should get some sleep while you can. I’ll keep watch and we’ll swap in a few hours. When the storm passes we’ll have to keep moving.”

“Okay,” Rhys mumbled, eyes already slipping closed. He looked highly uncomfortable but Tim didn’t trust himself to reach out and ease him into a better position. He might not be able to stop touching this time. As Rhys slipped into sleep, Tim turned his head so he didn’t have to look at the way Rhys’ face softened and eased, the way his lush mouth slipped open just a little with each slowing breath. Instead he stared out the windows at the swirling sand, climbing ever higher up the car with each gust of wind, and tried not to think about all the things he was not allowed to have. 

*

Rhys jerked awake, groaning as the motion pulled something taut in his neck. “Ow, shit.” He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face and blinking at the light. He could feel the indents of where the ridges of the steering wheel had pressed into his cheek. That was definitely a line of drool drying on the grip. His mouth was horribly parched. He grimaced and looked around. 

The storm had passed, leaving them relatively unscathed. There were a few hairline cracks on the windows and a small hole spiderwebbing out across the windscreen, but the car was mostly in one piece. The sun was hanging in a cloudless sky, as if Pandora hadn’t just tried its best to kill them only a few hours ago. He could already feel the heat building inside the car. 

The more immediate concern, however, was the sand banked up around them. It had crept up as Rhys slept, and now was half way up the car, completely burying the wheels. Fuck. His pulse raced as he realised Tim was gone again--he was really starting to hate waking up like this. When he craned around he could see Tim bent behind the car, labouring at something. With a sinking heart he realised Tim had let him sleep all night, and had probably not had a wink of rest himself.

Driven up by guilt, Rhys climbed into the back and rummaged until he found a bottle of water from their rapidly diminishing stash. He gulped it down and grabbed another for Tim. They needed to get the hell out of the desert, but none of the other options looked any better. At least out here there was no immediate threat of being shot and having his corpse dragged back to Helios. Shutting off that line of thought, Rhys climbed awkwardly up to the roof and walked over to Tim.

Tim was bent over, shovelling sand away from the rear wheels. He had stripped down to his singlet, sweat darkening his hair and glowing along his neck. For the first time Rhys noticed a spray of freckles along the tops of Tim’s bronzed shoulders. His mouth turned dry for an entirely different reason. He cleared his throat. When Tim looked up Rhys gave him an apologetic smile and handed him the bottle. 

“Thanks.” Tim uncapped it and gulped it down. A few drops spilled down his chin and traced along the bobbing line of his throat. Rhys forcibly dragged his eyes away. It was bad enough that he had slept through his shift, he couldn’t spend all day ogling Tim while the other man worked so hard. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he said, then cringed when it came out sounding like a complaint.

Tim shrugged, smiling softly. “You looked like you needed the rest.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not looking so hot yourself,” he mumbled, which was a complete lie because if there was one word to describe what Tim currently looked like, it was hot, in a multitude of ways. He dropped onto the ground and tapped Tim’s hand where he gripped the shovel. “Why don’t you have a break? Let me do the work for once.”

Tim scrubbed an arm along his forehead, the strong lines of his torso flexing with the motion. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Rhys nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Tim must be truly exhausted; he handed the shovel over gratefully and sat down in the shade of the car, his back against an excavated tire. Rhys started on the other side. It was gruelling work under the already hot morning sun. Within minutes he was sweating through his shirt. Rhys was pretty sure he wasn’t working the sweaty look anywhere close to how well Tim did. 

Tim had tilted his head back and let his eyes fall closed, but a faint glimmer between those thick lashes showed he was still awake. Rhys knew he should let Tim rest, but he couldn’t stop thinking out loud. It was how he coped with stress. “We’re not far from the mountains. If we make our way there we could hide out for a bit, I don’t think anyone but psychos live around that area, and as far as I’m aware psychos don’t understand the concept of money. Sure, we might end up as guest stars at the next skin pizza party, but at least then Jack won’t get his hands on our corpses. God, do you think psychos eat people? Why else would they call it skin pizza?”

Tim put a hand over his mouth, and after a second Rhys realised the other man was laughing at him. 

“Hey, stop giggling and get some sleep, I can’t have you keeling over when the psychos are coming for my beautiful skin.”

Tim dropped his hand, revealing a truly spectacular smile. “I’m trying, but someone keeps talking at me.” One of his long legs stretched out to bump against Rhys’ boot. “You know, you’re taking all of this,” he gestured broadly around them, “really well. I’m impressed.”

Rhys scowled, though the effect was ruined somewhat by the sweat running into his eyes. “I might look like a pampered desk monkey, but I have managed to survive my whole life on Pandora, thanks very much. Besides, I find denial to be a very effective coping mechanism.” Like pretending that Handsome Jack didn’t exist, or that Rhys himself wasn’t destined for a gruesome death at the hands of pretty much 90% of the population on this planet.

His mood sobred. Rhys bit his tongue and put his back into his Sisyphean task, shovelling scoop after endless scoop of sand. Tim’s smile faded. Maybe he was also contemplating the futility of their struggle. But it seemed neither of them were quitters, and Tim had so far lived up to his promise of keeping Rhys safe. That was no small comfort in this cruel world. 

After what felt like an eternity, he had made enough headway in the shovelling that he thought they could try starting the car. Rhys knew if he didn't do something, didn’t have at least the illusion of progress to cling to then he might scream, and once he started it would be hard to stop. Tim climbed in wearily after him and resumed his place in the passenger seat, gun across his lap. Rhys settled behind the wheel, took a deep breath, and started the engine. The wheels spun for a second before they caught. With a lurch they emerged and started forward. He let out a whoop of triumph and smacked the steering wheel. This was more like it!

He grinned at Tim, though he was pretty sure it looked half crazed. Tim returned it softly then tipped his head against the window and was almost instantly asleep. Poor guy. Watching his strong features ease into sleep, Rhys realised that despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. He had made a lot of bad choices in life, but saving Tim might be the best (and last) thing he would ever achieve, and he was okay with that. 

*

They were within sight of the mountain ranges when Rhys noticed the column of dust rising up behind them. At first he thought it was the start of another sandstorm, but the glitter of sunlight on metal quashed that idea. 

“Shit,” he said quietly and pushed his foot down on the gas. The car lurched, complaining. It had been steering weirdly since the morning, and he was sure they had lost some speed compared to last night. They might have made it through the storm in one piece, but the car clearly wasn’t happy about the abuse.

Tim stirred in his seat, then bolted upright as their radio crackled to life. “Hey Rhys,” August’s voice came through the speakers. “I see you and your pal made it through the night. Didn’t think you had it in you, so good job. 

Rhys knew he should let sleeping dogs lie, but he wouldn’t be where he was now if he could keep his big mouth shut. “Hey bro,” he answered chipperly, “how’s the single life treating you? You know Sash still talks about you?”

“She...she does?”

“Yeah, totally, she’s always telling these funny stories about your time together. Like that time you cried after sex, that’s real cute bro!”

“I pulled a muscle!” August yelled over the sound of giggles in the background. “Shut up,” he snapped, though it was hard to tell who he was talking to. 

Rhys gave Tim a triumphant grin, but the other man only frowned at him. Oh yeah, they were going to die in extremely gruesome ways soon. Rhys sobered and concentrated on driving. Tim was looking back at their pursuers, his body tensed with purpose. “You got a plan?” Rhys said with fading hope.

Tim shook his head. “Not a good one.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Those always end well.”

“Hey Rhys,” August’s voice came through the radio again. “When I send your corpse up to Helios I’ll be sure to drop by and say hi to Sash after. I think she’ll forgive me for 30 mil.” 

Rhys gritted his teeth. “You’ll have to catch me first, asshole. Say hi to your mum for me.”

“Why don’t you say hi yourself,” August drawled. “I hope you don’t mind her crashing the party. Things are about to get real loud.”

Rhys darted a look at the rear view mirror, ECHOeye zooming in. To his horror he could see Vallory in all her terrifying glory, emerging atop the lead car like a demon rising up from hell. Perched on her shoulder was that huge cannon of a rocket launcher. It gleamed nearly as bright as her toothy grin. Almost before the full horror of the situation could sink in, Rhys saw the flare of light as Vallory rocked with the recoil. The rocket came toward them in slow motion, its dark shape growing ever larger while he stayed frozen in place, every hair on his body standing on end as death came for him in a roaring rush. 

“Get down!” Tim pulled him out of his seat and draped his big body over Rhys’. 

There was a huge sound. Light bloomed around them like the sun, bright and burning. The world lurched as Rhys was tossed around like a ragdoll. For long seconds there was only heat and impact. Then he was thrown from the car, slamming into the ground with a teeth-rattling crunch. 

When he could open his eyes again his vision glitched. Something had been knocked loose, and his ECHOeye wasn’t working properly. All around him was the burning wreckage of their armoured car. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. Everything was disjointed, fragmented. He squinted shut his left eye and the world swam back into place. What he thought was a lump of fabric lying a few feet away turned out to be Tim. The other man was flung onto his back, face turned away. Without his ECHOeye it was impossible to tell if Tim was still breathing. 

Tim never did take his shields back. The device sparked on Rhys’ chest, depleted.

Rhys struggled to his feet but collapsed again. Dimly he realised at least one leg was broken. He tried to call out to Tim but could only cough, nothing but smoke and dread in his lungs. Tim still hadn’t moved. Rhys pushed up onto his elbows and dragged himself over the burning sand. He had to get to Tim, he had to see his face. 

There was the crunch of footsteps behind him, then a hand came down and pulled him up by the hair. Rhys screamed through gritted teeth and clawed at those fingers, but it was like clawing at stone. 

Vallory’s wide face grinned down at him. “You’ve led me on a merry chase, boy, but playtime’s over. I’ve got some questions for you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Being dead was like drowning, he thought fuzzily. Dark tides thundered above his head as he tried to move his limbs through heavy waters. He was so tired. It was tempting to let go and just drift, but there was something important waiting for him. If he could just drag himself up, swim through the cold waters and get his head above the tide. Tim thrashed, fighting the dark grasp of unconsciousness, and burst through the surface with a gasp. His first waking thought was: _Rhys._

“Take it easy, kid. Let the meds do their thing.”

That voice was familiar, but not the one he wanted to hear. Tim struggled to get upright. His bones were made of lead, his chest a mess of broken glass. His whole body ached with the afterburn of taking too many red syringes too quickly, but he had to get on his feet, he had to find Rhys before it was too late. 

An arm like a steel bar braced across his chest, holding him in place. “Quit it, don’t make me tie you down.”

His vision swam into focus on the scowling face above him. He would recognise that terrifying mix of cherubic features and murderous intent anywhere. “Athena? How--” It had been years; in fact, Tim had not seen her since he had lost his face. 

“Lie down or I’ll fucking put you down, I’m not kidding.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she would. Tim collapsed back onto the ground and surveyed his surroundings. The rocket had not left much intact: their armoured car was a smoking ruin, scattered in pieces, some parts still burning. There was no sign of Rhys. He clutched at the arm braced across his chest. “Where’s Rhys?”

“Your bandit friends dragged him off,” Athena said. “He was still alive at the time, but Jack is probably having his corpse stuffed and mounted for display in his office right about now.”

No, Jack didn’t have Rhys, not yet, because Jack wasn’t crowing his victory all over Pandora and he was never one to let a win go unannounced. Hope hammered in his chest. It hurt, the way blood flooding back into a deadened limb hurt. Rhys had been alive when they took him. Tim had to find him. “Give me another needle,” he said, stretching out his hand.

She frowned at him. “You’ve already had too many.” They both knew the dangers of overdosing; the body wasn’t meant to reset so quickly. The more he took, the worse the aftereffects would be. But he could worry about that later.

“Please,” he said, “I need to do this.”

She stared at him for a long moment, scowling, but handed him another health kit. He snatched it from her hands and plunged it into his side, hissing through his teeth at the rush. His heart pounded with the onslaught of adrenaline; the hangover was going to be shit, but that was the least of his problems right now. He got to his feet. Athena watched without offering any assistance; she never did suffer fools very well. “How did you find me?” he asked.

She leaned back on her heels and wiped her bloodied hands across her pants. “Atlas hired me to capture your little con artist friend. I’ve been following you two idiots since you hit New Haven.”

“You’re not interested in Jack’s offer?” What Atlas promised couldn’t possibly match Jack’s 30 million.

She sneered. “Didn’t Jack tell you? We don’t talk anymore, not since he tried to kill me.”

It didn’t make sense. Athena was one of the best on Jack’s team, but after Tim’s accident she had just disappeared. When he had asked Jack about it the other man only growled something about loyalty being a rare thing. 

The surprise must show on his face; Athena gave him a dark look. “Of course he never told you. After that mess with the fake vault key, I thought what Jack did to you was not okay. He’s always been weirdly possessive about you, but fucking with your face like that was going too far. I told him so, and he didn’t appreciate it.”

It was disheartening to think that even Athena had seen the truth of Jack’s sway over him. Had it always been so obvious to everyone but him? How did he not recognise it until now? But that was Jack’s genius, wasn’t it, to spread through the system like a silent cancer until he was in your bones. 

“I see he got his way in the end, as usual,” she said, scanning him from head to foot. It was hard to tell if her expression of distaste was anything beyond her normal state of generalised disgust with the world. 

Self-conscious, he touched his face and stilled when he felt the pattern of fault lines on one cheek. He traced the fractures gingerly. The lines felt brittle, the edges harder than the rest of the synthetic skin. It gave a little under pressure but didn’t fracture any further. It seemed the universe was hell bent on disfiguring him, one way or another. He wondered what Jack would say if the other man could see him now. 

But self-pity was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now. “Why did you help me? You must know I can’t let you hand Rhys over to Atlas.” If Athena wanted Rhys she would have to get through Tim first. His whole body prickled with a bone-deep ache and he had no weapons, but he would fight tooth and nail if he had to.

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Atlas hasn’t been taking my calls since this morning, which means I’m down a million dollars and a couple days of wasted time. And I helped you because I didn’t help when Jack first got his hooks into you, but now you can consider us even.”

He sagged with relief. He had sworn to protect Rhys and he had failed, but Athena had given him a second chance. “Thank you,” he said, even though words were inadequate reward for what she had done for him. “Will you help me find Rhys? I can’t pay you, but--”

Athena shook her head. “I’m not interested in your suicide mission, but assuming you both make it out alive, I’ve got a safe place you can hunker down for a while.” She sent the coordinates to his ECHO, and dropped a bag by his feet. “You can take these supplies and my ride, but that’s as far as I’ll go. Without the bounty money I’m already in the red, and I want no part in whatever clusterfuck you’ve got going on with Jack and this Rhys kid.”

“Thank you,” he said again. It wasn’t nearly enough but it was all he had to offer.

Athena was already walking away. “Don’t make me waste all the meds on you for nothing, Tim. Stay alive out there.”

He would try, or he would take them all down with him. If Rhys was still alive, then Tim would find him. And if Rhys was dead--the idea twisted like a knife in his chest. If Rhys was dead, then Tim would set the entirety of Pandora alight for his funeral pyre.

*

The fist rocketed into his gut, driving all the air from him in a rush. Rhys coughed and curled over as much as his bonds would allow. It fucking hurt, on top of all the other catalogue of hurts, from the growing bruises on his face down to the dull throbbing of his broken leg. He had taken his share of beatings over the years--hell, it was practically the cost of doing business on Pandora--but it never got easier to bear. 

Pain was clarifying though, and he clung to it, because it meant he was still alive. Not that it meant much; he seriously doubted the current state of affairs would continue for very long. 

“I’ll ask you one more time, boy.” Vallory’s face swam into focus. The glitching of his ECHOeye didn’t improve the view. “What did you steal that Hyperion is willing to pay 30 million to get back?”

Rhys recalled with a pang Tim’s smile, the touch of his hands on Rhys’ face, his steady courage in keeping Rhys safe. He thought about all the ways in which Tim was different from the man whose face he wore. He licked his split lip and said, “I stole Handsome Jack’s soul.”

Vallory watched him impassively. August pushed away from the wall with an impatient gesture. “Forget it, ma. Clearly he’s knocked a few screws loose. Let’s just get it over with and collect our money.”

“That’s the problem with you, son, you haven’t got vision.” She circled Rhys, ignoring August’s scowl. “Whatever he stole was valuable enough to get Handsome Jack’s panties in a knot. If we get our hands on it, 30 million will be pocket change. It has to be something worth a lot more than the bounty on his head. Come on, Rhys,” she crooned, bending down to his eye level. “Make things a little easier for yourself, hmm? You don’t have to play tough, we’re all friends here. The thing you stole, how much is it worth?”

He thought about Tim refusing to abandon him, Tim facing down a room full of people for him, Tim throwing himself over Rhys as the rocket hit. He thought of Tim lying motionless in the flaming wreckage. Tim was dead because of him. The thought was like a knife in the gut, and that more than the beating brought tears to his eyes. “It’s priceless. It’s worth more than you can ever dream of, and you just blew it up, you dumb bitch.” 

Vallory straightened up and clicked her tongue. “I tried to be nice to you, Rhys, seeing as how we’re friends and all, but you’re too stubborn for your own good. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to see for myself.” She turned to August. “Go find our guy who’s good with computers. We’ll hook him up and download his ECHO data, it’ll be in there somewhere.” 

August gave him a last unreadable look before he left the room. Rhys was a little sorry to see him go. As much as he disliked the guy, he had to admit that August had always been sweet to Sasha, and that counted for something. He hoped his sisters wouldn’t be too mad at him for getting himself killed. He wished he could see them one last time.

Vallory turned back to him and eyed him critically, like she was looking for the best place to start disassembling. “We’ll need to keep your head intact to gain access to your ECHO, but the rest of you, well, that’s just meat. Your arm might be worth something though. I think I’ll keep it. It’ll look real nice mounted on the front of my car.”

Rhys closed his eyes. Whatever happened next, he wasn’t making it out of this room alive. There was nothing he could say to change the outcome, because he had nothing Vallory or anyone could use. The only thing he had managed to steal from Jack was Tim’s friendship. Tim trusted him, and Rhys had led him straight down the road to ruin. His heart lurched and a sob snuck past his clenched teeth. He didn’t care if Vallory could see him cry, he just didn’t want her to think it was because of anything she was doing. The worst had already happened, everything else was just loose ends. Rhys let his head sink down onto his chest and waited for it to be over. 

*

Vallory’s compound in New Haven was only lightly guarded, most of the security relaxed and no doubt keen to celebrate a job well done. Tim couldn’t blame them; he would probably feel the same in their position. As far as they knew, they had caught their big fish, and there was nothing standing between them and the biggest payout of their lives. 

The only mistake they had made was not putting a bullet in his head when they had their chance. Briefly he wondered just how bad he had been when Athena found him, but at this point it was academic. He was alive, and they were going to die.

He checked his ECHO. On the way here he had put out an anonymous bulletin that Rhys Strongfork had been spotted in Vallory’s custody. Adding some keen bounty seekers to the mix would help to divide Vallory’s attention, but there was no way to tell if or when they might arrive and he didn’t have any more time to waste. The party was starting one way or another.

“Are you in position?” he said into his comms.

“I’m balls deep, pumpkin,” Number One answered. “Ready when you are.”

“Got your sweet ass covered, handsome,” Number Two said from his elevated position. “Sniper at the ready.”

Tim took a deep breath and blew it out. “Go.”

An explosion rocked through the other side of the building. Number One was having his fun. As shouts of alarm moved toward the commotion, Tim scaled the fence on his side and dropped lightly into the compound. On his initial visit yesterday--god, had it only been yesterday?--he had taken some extra time to snoop around, and he was glad for it now. He had a decent idea of where Vallory would likely keep a high value prisoner. He shot out the locks on a side door and burst through, moving fast and light, gun leading the way. Rounding the corner, he came across three men who he dropped with a headshot apiece. He quickly frisked the bodies for supplies and moved on.

Any occupied rooms he encountered that didn’t contain Rhys he tossed a grenade into. It was loud and it was messy, but the intended effect was shock and awe. He wanted them to think they were under attack from a battalion, not one man and his two digistructs. An internal scale of guilt tipped ever heavier with each kill but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered if Rhys was already dead. 

Fury burned through him like a gasoline fire. How dared these pissants take what didn’t belong to them. Rhys had been the only one to see Tim as more than a pale imitation of Handsome Jack, more than a trigger to be pulled, and they dared to lay their unworthy hands on him. Rhys had given him the hope for redemption and the will to make his own choices. Rhys was better than any of these bastards and Tim would burn this place to the ground to show them. 

He burst into the next room and put down the half dozen men scrambling to their feet. A bullet chipped the wall a bare inch from his head, but when he turned the shooter was already falling, half his face missing. Through the cracked window pane he could see the glint of Number Two’s rifle. 

“Slow down, lover boy,” the digijack snapped at him over the comms. “If you keep charging around like an idiot I can’t cover you.”

“Try harder,” Tim snapped back. He knew he was taking too many risks, but it had already been hours since Rhys was taken, and he was running out of time. He didn’t let himself consider the possibility that he might already be too late. His digijack grumbled some choice words that he tuned out. Whatever else, he could count on his digistructs to watch his back. Like Number Two had said before, it was self-preservation. 

He turned the corner and caught the tail end of a pained gasp echoing down the corridor. He would know that voice anywhere. The fire inside him flared, but he had to temper it, narrow it to a controlled burn instead of the roaring blaze his blood demanded. He would need it to get him through what came next.

Blood rushed his head, sweeping clean everything else until there was only the gun in his hand and the sound of Rhys suffering. He kicked through the door and put two rounds in the back of Vallory’s big skull. The guards on either side of her didn’t have time to shout before he put them down with a double tap each. Heart beating steadily, he swept the room, moving from corner to corner until he had made sure that anyone who needed killing was dead. Only then did he let himself look at the man in the chair. 

Rhys was slumped to the side, eyes closed. He was covered in blood, though how much of it was his and how much once belonged inside Vallory’s pulverised head was hard to tell. For a split second Tim was sure he had been too late. Anguish howled inside him. His ears rang with it as he kicked aside Vallory’s limp body and crouched down in front of Rhys, but when he cupped Rhys’ battered face in his hands Rhys was warm and pliant and alive, alive, alive. 

Those mismatched eyes fluttered and eased open at Tim’s touch. “Hey,” Rhys said, smiling through bloodied teeth. “I was just thinking about you.”

Relief choked Tim until he could barely speak, but he returned Rhys’ smile with a shaky one of his own and ran a thumb over Rhys’ swollen cheek. Rhys had stayed alive long enough for Tim to find him. “I’ve been thinking about you too, Rhys. You did good, you did so good. Just hang on a little longer and I’ll get you out of here.”

He pulled out the health kits and stuck two of the glowing red syringes in Rhys’ side, pushing the plungers in right to the end. Rhys hissed. Tim knew intimately the sting of repairing muscles and healing bones, and he hated to cause Rhys more pain but it was necessary. He only wished he could bear it for Rhys instead. The swelling on that baby face went down even as he watched. It might not be enough but he didn’t want to risk overdosing. As long as Rhys could get to his feet that would be enough for now. Tim moved around him, cutting his bonds, and caught Rhys just as he slid off the chair. 

Rhys groaned. “Being dead hurts more than I thought it might.” He clutched at Tim’s shoulders, and Tim knew they were running out of time but he let Rhys cling to him, holding him close with gentle arms just to feel Rhys’ heart beat against his chest. He pressed his cheek against the side of Rhys’ head and thought that he would be content with just this for the rest of his life. 

“I’d tell you to get a room,” Number Two said urgently over the comms, “but you need to get the fuck outta there, cupcake. Things are getting a little too fun out here and I can’t guarantee you’ll make it out in one piece.”

“You worry about your end and let me take care of things here,” he answered, then regretfully pulled back until he could look Rhys in the face. “Do you think you can stand?”

Rhys frowned back at him fuzzily. “I’m sick of running. I just want to lie down and enjoy death.”

“Got plenty of time to do that when you’re a hundred years old and surrounded by your grandkids. Now let’s get going.” He towed Rhys to his feet and clipped a pillaged shield on his chest. “Stay behind me, hold onto my jacket and whatever you do, don’t let go.” He led them out of the room, gun held steady in front. Rhys mumbled something like ‘how can I have grandkids if I don’t even want kids’ but followed along, his metal hand anchored firmly at Tim’s back. 

As they made for their final target Tim could hear more shouts and gunfire from outside the building. “Some friends are RSVPing to your invite, Timtam,” Number One said in his ear. “Might want to get outta there if you don’t want to share.”

As if on cue, another explosion rocked through the compound, shaking dust down from the ceiling. Rhys yelped and ducked. Tim was keenly aware of how vulnerable Rhys was, he didn’t want to risk wading through gunfire with Rhys at his back, but his plan was working. He had been counting on the new arrivals to keep Vallory’s men busy, and judging by the sound the party was really kicking off near the main gate. The corridors leading to the back car park were mostly deserted. The few people unfortunate enough to cross their path didn’t get much time to regret their choices. Tim helped Rhys step over the last body as they made their way outside where a dozen vehicles sat waiting. 

Tim made a quick choice. When he stole the armoured car he needed protection. This time they needed speed. He straddled the motorbike and helped Rhys climb on behind him. Rhys’ arms, metal and flesh, settled around Tim’s waist like an anchor. “Hold tight,” Tim said as the bike roared to life. He could feel Rhys’ heart beating firmly against his back. Its beautiful rhythm pushed him through the worry and the exhaustion and propelled them both out of the compound, into the wastelands beyond. 

*

The bike growled beneath them, eating up the road. Rhys pressed himself against Tim’s solid back and tried to think. Everything was fuzzy in the way of dreams; he probably had a head injury still. Maybe he was still back in that room where Vallory had hurt him, and this was just a hallucination induced by blood loss. 

No, he could feel the steady beat of Tim’s heart under his hands, the shifting of Tim’s body as he steered and breathed. Rhys could still vividly recall the look on Tim’s face when he had burst into the room, that shift from deadly focus to crippling relief. Tim had looked at him like Rhys was something precious he had lost and found again. 

Rhys had had his share of admirers, he thought he knew what it was to be adored, but no one had ever wanted him like Tim did and yet asked for nothing in return. Tim gave of himself wholeheartedly, without condition, without expectation. He had fought off death itself to come back for Rhys. It was humbling to be given so much, and Rhys wanted it. He knew he was greedy; it was what drove him to want more, better, now. He grabbed at life with both hands, and now that he had had a taste of what Tim offered up he wanted whatever he could get. He wanted all of Tim, and he knew without a doubt Tim would gladly give it. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. 

Rhys buried his face against Tim’s jacket and opened their comms, because it was easier than shouting over the wind. “You’re really here,” he said. 

Tim’s hand rested on Rhys’ clutching arms. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I thought you were dead,” he mumbled, half afraid that if he said it out loud Tim would disappear like a soap bubble. 

“Only the good die young, Rhys. I’m going to be around a long time.” 

There was something wrong with that statement, so matter of factly said. He wanted to dispute it, because Tim was good, he was more than good, there was no better man in this hideous world, but words escaped him. The only thing he could do was squeeze his arms around Tim. It was probably hurting him, but Rhys couldn’t make himself let go. 

Tim had come for him, had taken vengeance against those who had hurt him, and saved him again. Rhys was alive, and like a miracle, so was Tim. The other man was solid and whole against his chest, circled in his arms. Rhys let himself drift, lulled by the sound of their bike and Tim’s heart beating under his palms.

It was hard to keep track of how long they spent on the road. Rhys only knew that after some time the air grew chilled and the light changed. When he lifted his head again he saw a dusting of snow on Tim’s hair and along the strong line of his shoulders. 

Up ahead, a walled structure rose from the icy landscape like a mirage. Rhys checked his map; there should be nothing here but tundra, yet the facility sat solid and sprawling across the ice, unmistakable. As they pulled up to it he could see the glow of lights from within.

“What is this place?” he said, awed and wary.

“Somewhere safe we can stay for a while. There’s no one else here, the place has been abandoned for years.” Tim cut the engine and held out his hand. Rhys took it and followed him through the main gate.

He gasped as they stepped inside. In all his years on Pandora he had never seen anything like it: hundreds of trees--and not the scrubby prickly things that grew in the wasteland--towered overhead, their dense canopy almost obscuring the geometric pattern of the dome covering the entire facility. Lush and strange vegetation climbed riotously over each other, and though there were glimpses of manmade structures in between, those had been almost engulfed by twisting vines. Nearly everything from the unusual ferns to the giant mushrooms had a strange glow. He ran a finger along a leaf and watched the foliage change colour at his touch. “This place is incredible. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it.”

Tim made a noncommittal noise. In the eerie light he was very pale and swaying on his feet. With a pang of guilt Rhys remembered that Tim had likely been running on meds and adrenaline for the better part of the day. “Shit, I’m sorry, you must be exhausted.” He drew Tim’s arm over his shoulder despite the other man’s weak protests and helped him toward the nearest building. The doors were locked, but there was enough dormant power for Rhys to scan the code. It wasn’t easy with his faulty ECHOeye but he had made do with worse.

The inside of the building looked like it was once a housing unit. Multiple rooms led off the corridor, all of them unoccupied. A thick layer of dust covered everything. As they made their way inside, their feet stirred up small clouds and left behind a trail of prints. The place was eerie, the way shopping malls and schools after hours were eerie. Based on the size of the whole facility, the buildings should have been teeming with people, but as far as Rhys could tell they were the only humans here. It felt like they were the last survivors of some strange cataclysmic event. It should have been creepy, but with Tim at his side he felt completely safe, and after the events of the past few days Rhys was grateful to be far away from other people.

Tim was leaning heavily on him now, with a pinched look on his face like he was pushing through some discomfort.

Rhys scoped out the room closest to them and decided it would do. There was a bed inside, dusty like everything else but made up, patiently waiting for its owner to return. Tim sat down heavily onto it. He bent to tug off his boots and almost toppled off.

“Whoa, here, let me.” Rhys crouched down and helped to pull off Tim’s boots. It was strangely intimate, and it should have been jarring to be on his knees in front of Tim when Rhys had spent a good chunk of time in the exact same position in front of Handsome Jack, but somehow this was different. It helped that Tim was blinking down at him blurrily, without a trace of malice. Rhys swallowed back an instinctive surge of fear. It was okay, Tim wasn’t going to hurt him. Tim needed his help. He stood back up and eased Tim down onto the bed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to undress Tim, but the other man looked like he could sleep on a bed of nails right now. His head lolled on the dusty pillow, eyes already drifting closed. One of his hands reached out to rest lightly on Rhys’ arm.

"I’m so glad I found you,” Tim mumbled. 

A wave of tenderness surged over him. Rhys reached out and ran a hand through Tim’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Me too. It’s okay now, go to sleep.”

Tim mumbled something else but it was too low to hear. His eyes had closed, and even as Rhys watched Tim slipped into sleep like a man surrendering himself to it. Rhys watched him for longer than was probably appropriate, but it was hard to look away. He traced the lines of Tim’s face with his eyes, seeing Jack’s features but remembering all the while how Tim had killed for him, almost died for him. The new fractures on his mask was a stark reminder that this man wasn’t Jack. It seemed a perverse thing to relish, another testament to the price Tim had paid for their safety, but Rhys was grateful for it. The fault lines across that gorgeous face shattered any lingering illusion that Tim could be anything like Jack. His throat tightened with feeling, and he reached out and ran his hand through Tim’s hair again, just because he could. Tim didn’t stir this time.

After another long minute Rhys made himself step away. He wanted to rest too, but the urge to poke around was stronger. The place was strange and beautiful, and it called to him in a way that was almost hypnotic. Rhys drew a blanket over Tim’s slumbering form and went exploring.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG YOU GUYS IT'S HAPPENING.

Tim came out of sleep like a man coming back to life. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so deeply and woken up so well rested. After some examination he realised this strange new sensation was a feeling of peace. 

Rhys was seated at the desk next to his bed, tinkering away. A cable trailing from his data port was hooked up to an ECHOtab so old it looked almost like a relic. His cybernetic eye was laid out on the desk, tiny glittering pieces spread out like parts of an intricate puzzle. A few fine wires snaked from it to Rhys’ eye socket. Those fine hands moved confidently as Rhys pieced the eye back together. His face was focused in concentration, the pink tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. It was clear that Rhys was in his element and doing something he truly enjoyed. Tim could easily watch this forever. 

Nimble fingers picked up the now intact ECHOeye and slotted it back into place. Rhys blinked and made a pleased sound. When he turned and saw Tim, his smile lit up his entire face. “Hey sleepyhead.”

Tim felt his own face soften in answer. After the chaos of the past few days, this moment of stillness felt precious. He cleared his throat, half afraid he would shatter the illusion. “Hey yourself. How long have I been asleep?”

Rhys blinked, ECHOeye lighting up. “I haven’t really been keeping track, but maybe eight hours?”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Nah, there’s too much to do.” There were dark circles under Rhys’ eyes and a slight mania to his grin, but his excitement was palpable. “This place is amazing! I’ve been exploring and you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve found. I can’t believe Atlas just pulled up stumps and left it behind.”

“This is an Atlas facility?” Tim sat up in alarm. They were supposed to get away from Atlas, not hole themselves up in enemy territory. But Rhys waved away his concern.

“Don’t worry, this place has been vacant for years. Plus, I’ve been checking the news on ECHOnet and Atlas is pretty much dead. Another corporate scalp for Hyperion.” Rhys picked up the ECHOtab and came to sit on Tim’s bed, his body warm against Tim’s leg. “Here, check this out. I’ve been combing through the digital archives and there is so much stuff! Apparently before Atlas became a merchant of death it was exploring other investment options. This place was some kind of terraforming facility. You know all those weird plants we waded through on the way in? It’s all genetically modified stuff designed to thrive in harsh conditions. The right person could use this to turn Pandora into somewhere actually nice to live.”

“That sounds expensive,” Tim said. “They just left it all here?”

“I guess arms manufacturing is more profitable than bettering humanity,” Rhys said with a wry twist of his mouth. “The place is pretty run down, but I managed to fix up some of the generators around here and get some baseline power, so at least we won’t have to go stumbling around in the dark.”

“You did all that while I was sleeping?”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know.” Rhys pouted, still busily scrolling through the data on the ECHOtab, sifting through the grains in search of gold. “It’s not all good news though: some of the buildings here have automated turret systems that are still active, and there are a lot of really big--and I mean huge-- mosquito looking things.” He shuddered. “I can get our biometrics into the security system so the turrets will leave us alone, but the mosquitos are all yours.”

“Happy to be of service,” Tim said. He glanced at the screen in Rhys’ hands, but ones and zeros were not his specialty and he was more than happy for Rhys to rummage around in the database. Sitting like this, they were very close, and Tim couldn’t help but trace the lines of Rhys’ face with his eyes. 

Somewhere in between all his hard work Rhys had found time to get cleaned up. Washed clean of the blood and grime of the past few days, he looked almost like his old self again. His ungelled hair fell over his forehead in soft waves. His dark lashes flickered as he pored over the data and his eyes gleamed with reflected light. Tim would give his right arm to erase all the hurt Rhys had had to endure, but since that wasn’t possible, he would gladly have this Rhys: smart, resilient and beautiful; a born survivor.

Rhys looked up from the ECHOtab and their eyes met. Tim’s breath caught in his throat. He knew he should say something, some light or teasing words, but his mind was blank. All he could see was the bright gleam of Rhys’ eyes, one brown and one electric, staring straight into the core of him. 

His stomach growled, the sound startling in the quiet room. Rhys blinked, and the moment was lost. 

“Oh, hang on a sec.” Rhys stood up and left the room. Tim tried to hide his disappointment. It was stupid to get his hopes up. He knew the other man wasn’t interested in him as anything more than a friend, and it was greedy to want more. He scrubbed a hand over his face and chided himself. If they were going to be here together for a while, he needed to pull himself in line. It would be wrong to push for something Rhys wasn’t willing to give.

Rhys came back with a plate and a glass of water that he set on the bedside table with a flourish. “I figured you’d be hungry, I know I’d rather chew on a rock than eat another energy bar, but luckily we won’t have to.”

There were slices of fruit on the plate in florid colours, fresh and gleaming with juice. Fresh fruit was a rarity on Pandora, and Tim had certainly never seen any like these. He pulled the plate into his lap and bit into a slice. The flesh was sweetly tart, bursting with juice, and he must be hungrier than he realised because he was wolfing it down, making a mess of himself but too busy to care. Juice ran down his wrists and he licked it up, loathe to waste a drop. 

Rhys watched him, biting his lip. “Good, huh? Dunno what they are but I found a whole greenhouse full of them, and since I haven’t gone blind yet after shoveling down half a dozen I’m pretty sure they’re good to eat.”

Tim hummed with pleasure and crammed another piece into his mouth. “You didn’t happen to find any steak trees? Or a vodka martini tree?”

Rhys grinned. “I think that’s a little advanced even for Atlas tech, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Tim finished the whole plate and drained his glass in a single gulp, then sighed. It was good to be alive. His hands were sticky with juice and he wasn’t sure where to put them. It seemed a bit much to lick all his fingers clean in company.

“Here.” Rhys stood up and motioned for him to follow. “I found something else I think you’ll really like.”

He followed Rhys down the corridor, peering into each room they passed. Most of them were similar to the one they had commandeered: furnished, reasonably tidy but covered in a thick layer of dust. He saw several bookshelves and made a note to browse through them later.

Rhys was waiting expectantly at a set of doors at the end of the long hall. He was almost bouncing on his heels, and Tim felt himself smile. Rhys looked like a kid on Christmas morning. As he approached, Rhys swiped open the doors and made an expansive gesture. “Check this out!”

The first thing Tim noticed was the organic smell of plants and water, so strange to encounter indoors. The glowing forest had spilled in through the cracked roof and now covered every surface in the room with the same vegetation that had swallowed the entire facility. Tim could make out the shapes of shower stalls and sinks beneath the growth, but what drew his eye was the large pool at the centre of the room. By some miracle there was water running through it, gently steaming and coloured with a bioluminescent glow that turned the ripples into liquid electricity. 

“It’s a natural hot spring,” Rhys said. “Those Atlas assholes really knew how to live it up, huh?”

A long soak in a hot bath was a luxury Tim had never expected to encounter here. His feet were moving over the mossy tiles before the thought had fully formed. “Is it supposed to be glowing like that?”

“It’s just spores from the weird trees.” Rhys crouched at the edge of the pool and dipped his hand in. “Totally harmless, if you can get over the fact that you’re pretty much soaking in plant jizz.”

Tim made a face. “Now I suddenly don’t want to get in.”

Rhys grinned up at him. “What’s wrong, big brave badass like you scared of a little water?”

His rebuttal died in his mouth as Rhys started to strip. Rhys shed his clothes as unselfconsciously as a snake shedding its skin. Every inch of him was creamy pale against the bright blue of his tattoo, glowing in the low light. 

Tim dragged his eyes away, heat roiling in his belly. _Rhys is a friend_ , he reminded himself sternly. _Don’t make this weird_. But his greedy heart had never listened to reason, and throbbed away in his chest, forever hopeful.

Rhys slipped into the water, dipping below the surface and emerging again in a rush of blue light. He pushed his wet hair back and grinned at Tim. “C’mon, I promise there’s nothing dangerous in here.”

That was completely untrue: dripping with electric water, Rhys looked beautiful and perilous, like some fairy tale illusion that lured men to their deaths. Heart in his throat, Tim undressed and followed him in.

The water was a touch too warm, and the feel of it on his aching muscles made him groan. Tim sat back on an underwater ledge and sank in up to his neck. His eyes drifted closed but snapped open when he felt Rhys sit beside him, Rhys’ tattooed shoulder brushing up against his. The other man was looking over the room, eyes soft with wonder. “What a view, huh?”

“It’s beautiful,” Tim said quietly, but he wasn’t talking about the scenery.

Rhys smiled, dimples showing. Tim’s breath caught in his throat as Rhys turned to face him. They were sitting close, closer than friends should. Rhys’ hand came up and traced along the fractures on Tim’s mask. 

“I’m sorry about your face,” Rhys said quietly. Light rippled around them, reflecting in his eyes. 

Tim had to remember to keep breathing. He clasped his hands together below the surface to keep them to himself. “It’s okay,” he said through numb lips. “I don’t mind.” Rhys’ thumb was stroking over his cheek, and surely this was a fever dream because Rhys was leaning in, eyes on Tim’s mouth. He wanted to move but he was caught, trembling, pinned by Rhys’ hand on his face.

Rhys looked scared too, but then again he had always been the braver one. His voice was very low as he said, “I never thanked you for saving my life.”

 _No, you saved me,_ Tim thought, but before he could say so Rhys was kissing him, mouth lush and open. Tim couldn’t help the noise he made. Rhys took it and swallowed it down, his tongue nudging into Tim’s mouth, drawing more sound out of him. Tim found his hands running along Rhys’ arms. They told him this was real, that Rhys was really here, alive and whole, kissing him like he wanted to drink Tim down. 

Too soon, Rhys broke away and tipped his forehead against Tim’s. “Third time’s the charm, huh?” His smile was the most gorgeous thing Tim had ever seen.

With great difficulty he made himself say, “You don’t have to do this to thank me.”

Rhys blinked, then gave him an exasperated look. “Tim, pay attention.” He took a hold of Tim’s hand and put it where Rhys’ cock was nudging up eagerly into his palm. “I’m trying to get lucky here, so quit cockblocking me.”

Tim was glad he was sitting down because all the strength went out of him. Rhys was hard and hot in his hand. Rhys was climbing into his lap and Tim couldn’t believe he could have this, that he could be deserving of it, but it was happening. Rhys was kissing him again, fingers against Tim’s shattered cheek, and Tim kissed him back desperately, drawing Rhys into his arms. 

“Don’t hurt me,” Rhys murmured into his mouth.

“Never,” he swore fervently. “I could never.”

Rhys made a soft sound and wound his long legs around Tim’s hips. Blood pooled between his thighs so quickly Tim was dizzy with it. He put his hands on Rhys’ waist and pulled him close until they were slotted together, chest to chest. Rhys was slippery as a fish in his arms, his body sliding against Tim’s in a heart stopping rhythm. Beneath the water Rhys’ hand wrapped around both their cocks and Tim groaned, hips bucking under Rhys’ weight. The water rocked with their movements, splashing blue and bright. 

Rhys kissed him hungrily, his dark lashes fanning over his flushed cheeks. His body was all smooth lines and wild colour. Tim would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

He put his hand around Rhys’, lacing their fingers to grip together around their cocks. _You saved me,_ he thought fervently. _I lost myself but you helped me find my way back. Thank you. I adore you._ He wanted to tell Rhys all this but he would have to stop kissing, so he rocked his hips and let his body speak for him. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Rhys’ cock and savoured the way it made the other man arch into him. “Yes, let me, please” he said into Rhys’ panting mouth.

Rhys bucked in his hand and came with an echoing cry, his face tight with pleasure. Tim watched him avidly, drinking Rhys in until he was filled up, overwhelmed, heart aching. His own orgasm spilled over their joined fingers. 

When he could breathe again he found Rhys sprawled bonelessly in his lap, pressing sleepy kisses along his freckled shoulders. It took a few goes before he remembered how words worked. “Hey,” he managed, “no sleeping in the pool.”

Rhys’ eyes were already closed. “’M not sleeping, ‘m just resting my eyes--” he interrupted himself with a jaw creaking yawn.

“You should have rested earlier. Just because you’ve got all those shiny implants doesn’t make you a machine.”

“Says the guy who single-handedly stormed a bandit fortress,” Rhys muttered, burrowing against him. 

Tim got his legs under himself, no easy feat when his knees still felt like jelly. It was worth it for Rhys’ gasp when he lifted them both out of the water.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Rhys said, clutching at him.

“You can show your appreciation after your nap.”

“A nap? What am I, a baby?” Rhys groused as Tim set him on his feet and dried them both off. Despite his protests he was knuckling at his eyes, one yawn stretching into another. It was unreasonably cute.

Tim hustled him back to the room and into bed. As Rhys curled up under the sheets Tim considered his options. The bed was big enough for two, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he would be welcome. As he dithered, Rhys’ eyes popped back open, glaring. “I can hear you thinking from here. If I didn’t know you better I’d be offended.” Rhys threw back the sheets and made room for him. “C’mon, I want to sleep sometime this year.”

Absurdly grateful to have the choice made for him, Tim climbed in. Neither of them were small men, and it was a tight fit, but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to complain about having to press up against Rhys, all smooth skin and long limbs. 

Rhys made to lay down, then paused. Tim watched him arrive at some internal decision before he reached up and unhooked his arm, placing it on the bedside table. He hadn’t ever seen Rhys with his cybernetics detached; it made him seem smaller, more vulnerable. 

When Rhys turned back around all the bravado had drained from him. “Stay with me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to keep waking up alone.”

Tim's heart thumped in his chest. “I’ll be here, I promise.”

Appeased, Rhys curled up against him and was almost instantly asleep. Tim allowed himself the rare pleasure of being able to observe Rhys without interruption. He traced the lines of Rhys’ sleeping face with his eyes, reliving each sweet moment they had shared like paging through his favourite book. It didn’t keep thoughts of their tenuous future entirely at bay, but it helped. 

*

When Rhys woke, Tim was sitting beside him, reading an actual physical book with a lurid cover.

“Timothy Lawrence, is that a trashy romance you’re already halfway through?”

Tim’s cheeks reddened. “It’s got a good plot.”

“I’ll show you a better plot,” he said and grabbed Tim’s dick under the covers. The book was very quickly cast aside.

When hunger eventually drew them out of bed, Rhys stretched luxuriously and relished the heat in Tim’s lingering eyes. It was a relief to know he could still enjoy sex without freezing up. He was digging a grave for those particular memories of Jack, and he intended to bury them deep. Every touch he shared with Tim was another shovelful of dirt he could pile on top.

It had taken a good chunk of his courage to kiss Tim in the pool, but once he started it was so easy to keep going. Tim followed his cues instinctively, almost reverently, touching Rhys like he was something worth treasuring. A guy could get addicted to that kind of feeling. 

They spent most of the morning recalibrating the Atlas security system. The defences were not shabby despite their age and could decently keep out passing raiders or psychos. Their remote location meant it was unlikely that bounty seekers would stumble across them. It was a better safe haven than Rhys had dared hope for, and he knew he could make a life for them here, for however long they had. 

He sent off their coordinates to his sisters and grinned when he saw their response. “They can be here in under a week, barring any unexpected Pandora specials.” It was surreal to think he would see the girls again when that had seemed like a vanishing possibility only a few days ago. He felt like an entirely different person from the one who had left them behind, and he wondered how much of the change they would notice. 

Tim was still frowning down at the security console. With some upgrades the defences would readily handle whatever Pandora chose to throw at them, but Hyperion was a different issue. If Jack was really determined there wasn’t anything that could feasibly keep out an army of loader bots. No doubt the same thought had occurred to Tim.

Rhys hated that they couldn’t enjoy this brief peace without Jack’s shadow hanging like a sword over their heads. He wanted to see that look of contentment Tim had on this morning. He only ever wanted to be the cure for Tim’s worries. 

“Hey,” he said, taking Tim’s face in his hands. His fingers returned obsessively to the fractures on Tim’s cheek, Rhys’ talisman of safety. “Don’t overthink it, we’ll take it a day at a time, okay?”

Tim nodded, but the shadows were still there behind his eyes. Rhys bent and kissed him. “Take me to bed.”

Those strong arms lifted him and Rhys wound his legs around Tim’s waist. Tim walked them back to the room they had claimed for their own and set him down gently on the bed, then sank to his knees. Rhys’ breath caught in his chest. Tim looked like a worshipper devoting himself at the shrine, his face stripped bare of defences, leaving only raw emotion. He drew Tim into a kiss as they undressed each other, touching every inch of skin like something new to explore though they had been naked in each other’s arms only this morning. Those big hands that had killed to protect him slid tenderly up Rhys’ thighs as Tim bent his dark head and took Rhys’ cock into his mouth. 

“Ah!” Rhys buried his hands in that lush head of hair and gave himself up to the engulfing heat. Tim took his time, using his mouth and hands to give and give until Rhys was filled with aching warmth, his legs trembling. He could easily come like this but he wanted more. He wanted to worship Tim in return. 

“Stop,” he panted, tugging at Tim’s hair. Instantly Tim obeyed, sitting back on his heels, his lips parted and wet, looking up at Rhys with naked adoration. For all that Timothy Lawrence was a force of nature with a gun in his hand, here in this room he was entirely Rhys’ to direct. The idea of having so much power made his head spin. 

Rhys swallowed against the lump in his throat. Certain things still triggered a visceral fear response: a sharp tug in his hair, a hand around his throat, the loss of control. But he needed to do this; he refused to let Jack take up any more room in his head. 

“Come here,” he said roughly, “lie down on the bed, I want to see you.”

Tim moved until he was spread out on his back, a feast of tanned skin and pale scars for Rhys to devour. Rhys followed the map of old wounds with his mouth and hands. He lipped along the lines of that strong chest, rubbing his cheek against the dark hairs and licking at Tim’s peaking nipples. He wanted to learn every inch of Tim, seek out all the hidden places that made him gasp and writhe. 

Jack had rarely undressed more than enough to get his cock out. It was another one of his power plays, and an unsubtle one at that, but now Rhys was grateful for it because every inch of Tim’s bare skin was something new and wonderful to learn, untainted by bad memories. 

Tim ran his hands over Rhys like he was trying to memorise him. His eyes followed Rhys’ every move, starved but patient, willing to receive whatever Rhys wanted to give. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Rhys took Tim’s hands in his own and leaned over him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Tim said without hesitation. 

He pulled Tim’s hands up and wrapped them over the headboard. “I want you to hold on and not let go until I tell you to. Will you do that for me?”

Tim swallowed visibly and nodded. The muscles of his arms flexed as he tightened his grip. The sight made Rhys’ mouth turn dry. 

He reached for the oil he used to condition his cybernetics. He wanted to put on a show for Tim, because Tim deserved this and so much more. He straddled Tim’s hips, putting himself on display, stroking his own cock with his right hand. The metal was cool on his fevered skin. He felt more than heard Tim’s sharp intake of breath. Rhys knew he looked good like this, and the heat in Tim’s eyes goaded him on, urged him to push three fingers all at once inside himself. He hissed at the stretch, but he could bear it because he wanted to have Tim inside him now. His thighs shook as he fingered himself open, skin electric everywhere he felt Tim’s gaze. The angle was difficult, but it was worth it for the look of shocked desire on Tim’s face. 

The headboard creaked under Tim’s white knuckled grip. “God, Rhys, you’re killing me here,” he said roughly. 

Rhys rolled his hips in answer and groaned. Tim’s heavy cock twitched against his belly, already wet at the tip. Rhys licked his lips at the sight. He had waited long enough. He took a hold of Tim’s cock and lined himself up. Tim choked out a groan, his body one long line of tension as Rhys worked himself down. The stretch was so much better than his own fingers. He couldn’t help each small gasp as he took Tim in, inch by slow inch until they were pressed together, until he could feel Tim’s racing pulse inside him. 

“Fuck.” He had to squeeze his eyes shut, fighting the urge to come. It was thrilling to have that big body pinned beneath him, all that coiled strength his to control. Tim’s chest heaved under his hands and Rhys ran his fingers over all that heated skin. “God, Tim, you feel so good.” He let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes to see Tim wrecked beneath him. The other man was openly panting, mouth red where he had bitten into it, pupils blown wide with only a ring of colour around each. He was the most gorgeous thing Rhys had ever seen. 

He clenched down just to feel Tim tremble. Tim’s eyes squeezed shut then popped open like he didn’t want to miss a second of Rhys moving above him. His hips twitched with little abortive motions. “Rhys, my god, Rhys, please--” 

Rhys rewarded him with hot kisses and slow rolls of his hips. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Tim. Just hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

Tim whimpered, nodding. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and his arms shook with the effort of holding on but he did as he was asked. The sight drove a sharp spike of heat right through Rhys. He rose up and slammed down, chasing his own high, lost in the worshipful look in Tim’s eyes. “Yes, Tim, oh fuck you’re so good, you’re so good for me, oh you’re going to make me come--” He cried out, gripped by the orgasm rocking through him. Over the rush of blood in his ears he could hear Tim gasping, calling his name.

When he fell forward onto that broad chest Tim’s heart was a thundering rush against him. Tim’s cock was still achingly hard inside him, shifting with each breath and setting off echoes of pleasure. Tim’s chest rumbled with sound that resolved into a rough mantra of “Rhys, oh god, please, please let me touch you, please Rhys--”

He pushed himself back up on shaking arms and framed Tim’s face in his hands. Tim had been so good for him. Rhys pressed their foreheads together and said, “Yes, Tim, touch me, I want you to.”

With a cry Tim wrapped him in those powerful arms and rocked up into him. Rhys could only hold on and shiver; it was too soon to get hard again but he might come a second time anyway. Tim’s cock was dragging deliciously across over-sensitised nerves, stoking the fire under his skin. 

“Say my name again,” Tim pleaded. “Please, Rhys, say my name.”

He pressed kisses against Tim’s trembling mouth and said, “Yes, Tim, that’s it, come for me, Tim, oh Tim,” as the other man threw his head back and shuddered apart beneath him.

In the warmth of the afterglow Rhys let himself drift, cushioned on Tim’s chest and lulled by the lub-dub of the heart under his cheek. When Tim finally slipped out of his body Rhys sighed. He wiggled indulgently, feeling the mess he’d left between them turn sticky. “We need another bath.”

“We need to eat,” Tim said, sounding winded.

He nipped at Tim’s ear. “I’ve got something you can eat.” His dick was stirring again and he pressed it against Tim’s hip. 

The other man groaned. “You’re going to kill me, Rhys. If I die, no one can defend you against the giant mosquitoes.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, rising to his feet. “But seeing as I’ve just been spectacularly fucked I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you live for now. C’mon old man, on your feet.”

Tim took his proffered hand and pulled him close, burying his face against Rhys’ chest. Rhys couldn’t help but run his fingers through Tim’s hair, petting over his bent neck. He could feel Tim’s lips moving against his skin. “Hmm?”

Tim looked up at him, eyes shining. “Thank you for choosing me. I know how much you’ve had to risk because of that. I won’t forget it.”

Rhys felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed their fist around his heart. There was no adequate answer to that much devotion. He could only bend down and kiss Tim as sweetly as he knew how. 

They could both see the storm on the horizon. Handsome Jack was coming for them, one way or another. But whatever happened, Rhys knew he could weather the tempest as long as he had Tim by his side.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were my life  
> but life is far away from fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is the last chapter for Act Two. Thanks as always for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! Apologies in advance for this one.
> 
> Warnings: implied non-con, amateur surgery.

Each day spent with Rhys in their own private eden was a beautiful dream, one that Tim never wanted to wake up from. Every experience was novel and profound: waking up in the arms of someone he loved; being able to touch and be touched in return; delighting in Rhys’ delight at each new discovery he made in the digital archives. 

In the neon bubble of their new home it was so easy to ignore reality. For almost a week Tim immersed himself in the dream of love. He walked the boundaries of the unlikely forest, wandered the empty buildings and picked through the detritus of other people’s lives, always with Rhys at his side. Despite Rhys’ concern the oversized insects left them alone, and so Tim had no use for his gun. Instead he used his hands to learn every inch of Rhys’ body, both flesh and machine. Rhys’ warm scent mixed with the rich earthiness of the jungle became inseparable from Tim’s understanding of happiness.

But beneath the sweetness was a creeping rot. Each waking minute he could feel the eye of Helios on them, its unblinking stare a suffocating weight between his shoulders. Every time Tim closed his eyes he saw Rhys bruised and bloodied. Despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise Tim knew they were far from safety. Jack didn’t forgive, and he never forgot. All it would take was a single moonshot and everything Tim loved would be ash.

He knew what he had to do, but each day his selfish heart begged _not yet, not yet_. He spent every moment with his heart full of joy, his head sloshing with fear. 

They talked. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he had someone so willing to listen, who pushed him gently to different perspectives. 

“What was the old Timothy Lawrence like? Before all this,” Rhys gestured broadly over him. They were somewhere in the heart of the facility, deep in the manmade jungle. Being out here was like being on a distant planet. Iridescent flowers tumbled over arching branches, sheltering them in a natural bower. The colours lit Rhys up until he looked unreal, a fantasy of love that Tim had dreamed up. 

Head in Rhys’ lap, Tim thought about how to answer the question. It had been so long ago the memories were scabbed over and unsightly. “Below average, entirely unremarkable. You wouldn’t have even given me a second look.”

“Are you calling me shallow?” Rhys said teasingly.

“I’m saying I was a loser that no one looked at twice.” Except Jack, and look how that turned out.

Rhys hummed. He was peeling a drakefruit and popping segments into his mouth between questions. Tim watched him lick absently at the juice staining his fingers. Desire clawed at his insides, forever hungry no matter how often it was fed. “I find it hard to believe you could be anything other than incredible,” Rhys said. “Changing your face hasn’t changed your nature. You’re the best man I know.”

Tim sat up, suddenly uncomfortable. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to clear his head. “I’m not the man you think I am, Rhys. I’ve done a lot of bad things, hurt a lot of people.” 

Rhys just scoffed. “Have you forgotten we’re on Pandora? Show me someone who’s never hurt anyone and I’ll show you a liar. We only met because I came to Hyperion to steal from Handsome Jack.”

“That’s different,” he said, though he couldn’t articulate why.

“It’s not,” Rhys said. “Life’s not a story, Tim. There are no heroes or bad guys, only people. Little people like me do what we can to survive, and assholes like Jack never get their comeuppance because they have all the money and power.”

It was an uncomfortable thought. For so many years he had believed Jack’s narrative of being the hero. Jack was the foundation on which Tim’s life had been built. Any creeping doubts he had he put down to his own faults rather than the possibility that Jack could be wrong, because Jack’s faith in the story was unshakable. But meeting Rhys had made him re-examine things Tim had thought were universal truths, and now that he looked, he could see the cracks. 

Being Jack’s mirror was Tim’s oldest habit, and not one he was sure he could ever entirely kick. But Rhys had shown him that there was an alternative. Tim could adore him for that alone. 

"And what about you?” he asked. “What kind of man is Rhys Strongfork?”

Rhys chewed thoughtfully. “A liar and a thief, but a super good looking one,” he said, grinning. “I wish I could say I stole from the rich and gave to the poor, but being idealistic doesn’t keep anyone fed. Everything I’ve done is for me and my family, and I don’t regret any of it.”

“Not even the parts with Handsome Jack?” He thought of Rhys looking pale and tired, Rhys murmuring ‘ _Don’t hurt me_ ’. He wanted to ask what Jack had done, but he was a coward, and he didn’t want to know the answer.

Rhys bit his lip, growing sober. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. “Can’t say I’ve loved every minute. It’s been downright shitty being hunted and beat up, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Besides,” he gave Tim a heart stopping smile, “I wouldn’t ever have known you otherwise.”

Rhys’ remarkable ability to take things in his stride never failed to amaze him. While Tim had spent most of his life floundering from one mistake to another, Rhys seemed so firmly in control of his own path. 

Fingers sticky with juice took up Tim’s hands. Those stunning eyes gazed at him steadily as Rhys said, “Family are the people who fight through the impossible to help you. You’re part of my family now, Tim.”

All the breath was pushed out of him, crowded out by his blossoming joy. Tim bent his head and kissed Rhys’ fingers, tasting the flavour of strange fruits on his skin. No one had ever accepted him like this, not for who he looked like, but with full knowledge of what kind of man Timothy Lawrence was. He took Rhys in his arms and pressed his mouth against that long neck because words were difficult, but he could speak his gratitude with his body. 

Rhys sighed contentedly, arching up into his touch in a way that Tim could never get tired of. Those sticky hands petted over his shoulders and ran down his back, pulling him close. As Tim bent to kiss him Rhys said, “The girls just messaged to say they’ll be here in the morning. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

Reality crept over Tim like ice water. Grief laid its soft cloak over him. This dream had been the loveliest he had ever had, but even the sweetest dreams had to end, and his time was almost up. 

He tried to school his face but still Rhys frowned. “Tim? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I can’t wait to meet them,” he lied. He pressed Rhys back into the softly glowing earth and tried his best to make Rhys forget the momentary lapse. 

That night in their nest of blankets he worked himself back on Rhys’ cock and begged Rhys to fuck him harder, “Please, more, make me feel it,” and Rhys gave it to him, mouth gentle on his neck even as he dragged Tim into his thrusts with bruising hands. Afterwards, when Tim had made a mess of the sheets and Rhys was draped over him, panting, Tim rolled them over and put his mouth on Rhys again.

“Hey, hey,” Rhys laughed breathlessly. “Give a guy a minute, huh? What’s the hurry?”

“One more.” Tim kissed his way down Rhys’ body and took him into his mouth. When he came back up for breath, Rhys’ fingers in his hair, he said hoarsely, “One more, please, let me have one more.”

Later, thoroughly exhausted, Rhys slept soundly in their bed as Tim got dressed in the dark. Each layer he put on was another layer of armour around his selfish heart.

He was willing to die for Rhys, but taking a bullet was easy. Walking away from him was much, much harder. It took everything he had to put one foot in front of the other and not look back. He couldn’t think about Rhys waking up alone, Rhys searching for him through the empty rooms, growing ever more frantic. If he thought about it, then he would turn right around and never leave. And one day soon, his selfishness would get Rhys killed. He had to be brave, to love Rhys enough to give him up. 

_His family will be here in the morning,_ he told himself. _He’ll be fine. He might even forgive you one day._

Tim put his heart in a box and buried it deep. He got on his bike and rode away into the night because he didn’t have the courage to say goodbye in the light of day. He let the wind and snow whip him into numbness, until his insides matched the icy landscape stretching out in front of him. 

When he was far away enough he made the call. As the line connected, he said into the expectant silence: “I’m coming home.”

*

The ride up was long. Tim spent the time putting every sweet memory of the past six days away somewhere deep inside himself where Jack wouldn’t be able to reach, because Jack would want to. The growing ice inside sheltered him from fear and love alike. He could look out at the stars shooting past and feel nothing. 

Helios was the same as he had left it. It was jarring to see the world around him unchanged when he had returned as an entirely different man. 

Security frisked him the minute he docked and took all his weapons. Tim let them. He hadn’t come here to fight. When he was finally allowed to walk through those huge office doors, he did so without defences, without artifice.

Jack was standing at the windows, looking up at Elpis with his back to the room. He had his hands clasped behind him. He looked like a statue of himself. 

The sight of him still made Tim catch his breath. Part of him wanted to fall to his knees and beg, but that part was very small in his new self. Instead he made his way to the large desk and waited, hands at his sides.

Jack didn’t look around. The fingers on those big hands flexed and released. It was only because Tim knew him so well that he could see the tension in him. Jack was waiting for his cue, but Tim couldn’t play his old role anymore, not since Rhys had shown him an alternative. He was here on his own terms, and while he would never have the upper hand, he now knew his worth. 

After another minute and a small eternity Jack turned his head, enough that Tim could see the dramatic line of his cheek. “Are you here to beg for my forgiveness?”

“No,” Tim said. “I came to offer a trade.”

Jack sneered. His hands clenched into fists. “And what could you possibly offer that would interest me, pumpkin? I own the most powerful corporation in six galaxies. Anything I want I can have at the snap of my fingers. Everything you have, I gave to you.” His fingers flexed like he was pulling a trigger, or squeezing a throat. “What could you give me that I can’t just reach out and take for myself, hmm?”

All of that was true: everything Tim had been was what Jack made of him. But Jack had showed his hand. Jack had been prepared to turn Pandora inside out to have him back. Tim had always thought he would be nothing without Jack, but he had it backwards. Jack had made him into a mirror. A mirror was whole and entire in itself, but a face was lost without its reflection.

“Call off the bounty on Rhys,” Tim said, “and I swear I will never leave you again.”

Jack looked like he had stopped breathing. He turned, eyes heavy on Tim’s face, on the cracks in his mask. “That little fucker tried to steal from me. What makes you think I’d just let that go?”

Tim returned his look steadily. “Because it was never about Rhys, he was only ever a means to an end for you. This is about winning. Take my offer and you win.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, Timtam? You made the mistake of setting foot on Helios. What makes you think I can’t just hold you here forever? I can put a collar on your neck that’ll blow your head clean off if you ever try to leave. I can have you thrown into solitary confinement, keep you in the dark to bring out and play with when I’m bored. You think I won’t do that?”

“You can, but you won’t need to. Let Rhys live, and I’ll be yours, until death.”

 _Please don’t,_ the little Rhys voice inside him said, but Tim shut it away. He had to be brave, he had to do this. 

Jack watched him, hungry but wary, looking for the trap. “Just so we’re clear,” he said slowly, “I’d rather kill you than let you go.”

“I know,” Tim said. He accepted it, because there was no alternative. It was the only way Rhys would be safe.

He knew he had won when Jack’s hand twitched. Eyes firmly on Tim’s face, Jack opened up his ECHOcomm and said, “Fun’s over, kiddos. You’ve had your chance but the clock’s run out.” Tim could hear his voice resonate through Helios, echo out past the satellites to every connected device on Pandora below. “I’m withdrawing the bounty on Rhys Strongfork right now, because you’ve all been too busy standing around holding your dicks instead of getting the job done. Feel free to still murder the little twink, god knows he’s got it coming, but you’re not gonna get a dime out of me. Stay shitty, Pandora.” 

Tim tried to keep his face impassive. He didn’t want to think about how Rhys might react to that broadcast, whether he would be relieved or angry ( _definitely angry_ , a small part of him answered). Rhys was clever, he would guess Tim’s role in this, but Tim tried to find comfort in the idea that at least now Rhys would know he didn’t just disappear on a whim. Tim had abandoned him, exactly how he had promised Rhys he wouldn’t, but he hoped Rhys would understand. If it was too much to wish for forgiveness, then he hoped that Rhys would be angry enough to move on, to live his life and forget about Timothy Lawrence. 

Jack watched him like Tim was a specimen under glass, a new schematic to be broken down and figured out. “What is it about that little shit stain, huh?” His mouth twisted with contempt. “What could possibly inspire this kind of noble self sacrifice?” 

Tim said nothing. There was nothing he could say to make Jack understand. It wasn’t Jack’s fault; he just wasn’t wired that way. 

Jack frowned, but he didn’t explode in his usual way. Tim was familiar with this routine. The waiting was almost worse than the full brunt of the storm. But whatever pound of flesh Jack might demand he would bear.

The other man came up to him now with his usual disregard for personal space. He came close enough to kiss, to break Tim’s neck if he wanted to. One big hand cradled Tim’s cheek, stroking a thumb over the fault lines. The old Tim would have given a limb for Jack to touch him like this. “Who did that to you, pumpkin?” Jack said softly.

“Bandits,” Tim said. “I killed them.”  
  
“Good.” Jack’s thumb stroked over Tim’s cheek once more before he dropped his hand. Jack turned his back on him and sat down at his desk. “I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. You're welcome. I'll give you some time to consider how to repay me. You’re a clever cookie, I’m sure you'll think of something.”

Tim let out a shaky breath. It seemed too easy. But Jack had pulled up his screens and immersed himself in work. Dismissed, Tim let himself out and made his way to his rooms.

*

His rooms had been torn apart. Tim surveyed the damage and felt the howl of icy winds echoing through his body. There was the palpable taste of rage in the air, the mark of Jack’s hand everywhere. 

Everything that had once belonged to Tim, every little thing he had carved out of his life as Handsome Jack’s shadow had been systematically destroyed. Each pot of cactus was smashed, dirt and spines ground into the flooring, smeared over the walls; every page from his books torn out and shredded, scattered like snow drift. Everything that Jack had not personally chosen for him had been laid to waste, like Jack had tried to reduce the memory of Tim to its atomic components. 

One of Tim’s grey sweatshirts lay shredded on the kitchen counter. A knife sat on top, glowing in the low light.

It was a knife Jack had given him, years ago. It had been Jack’s favourite, a limited-issue Hyperion model with a plasma edge that burned as it sliced. (“I cut down a lot of the competition with this baby, Timtam. But now that I’ve climbed to the top of the shit heap I won’t need it anymore, so I want you to have it. Stick it in the eye of anyone who tries to fuck with us.”) It was one of the many things Tim had left behind in his abrupt departure. Now it sat there like a silent message. As he made an attempt to clean up, Tim found himself returning to it time and again, picking it up to feel its weight in his hand. 

He had made a deal with the devil, and Jack wasn’t done with him yet. 

As if on cue, the huge windows lit up with a projection of Jack’s face. There was a look on it that Jack reserved for when Tim had disappointed him. “How do you like the new decor, cupcake?” Jack’s voice echoed from the high ceilings. “Figured since you left all this shit behind you didn’t need them anymore.”

Standing amongst the crushed remnants of his life, something inside Tim snapped. Years of suppressed feeling came boiling up. It set him alight, burning him up from the inside out. “You had no right to do this,” he said hoarsely. Memories of Jack looking down on him just like this flooded his brain, years’ worth of memories: Jack staring at his ruined face, Jack watching him fall into himself, Jack standing over him and offering his hand, not to help but to drag him further down. He could feel the scream building up, growing under pressure. 

All the restraint Jack had shown in the office was gone. That mask loomed over him, twisted with rage. “I own you, Timtam. Everything you have I gave to you, so I have every right. Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jack’s lips drew back from his teeth, exposing the sharp edges. “Did you think you could just waltz right back like nothing happened? You should have come back on your knees! You ungrateful shit. I built you up from nothing. I gave you everything you ever wanted and you just walked away, for what? To get your dick wet?”

“You ruined my life!” Tim’s heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath. “You tried to kill who I am.” He was gripping the knife so tightly his fingers were growing numb. If Jack was here right now Tim couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t lunge for him. 

Jack shook his head pityingly. “I changed you, Timmy. I saved you. You were a loser dying a slow death before I came along. I took you out of your sad little life and I gave you a purpose. Everything I did was so I could improve you. I had to break you down before I could build you up again. And look at you now. My crowning achievement.”

The old Tim would have given anything to hear those words. Now they scorched him, salt in his wounds. He knew what it was to be saved, Rhys had shown it to him, and Jack had forced him to give it up. Tears of rage stung his eyes, burning in his throat. “You never wanted to save me. You only ever wanted a lesser version of yourself.”

Jack laughed. It twisted his face into something unsightly. “You used to idolize me, kiddo. What changed? Wasn’t I good to you? Was it because I gave Rhysie the one thing you always wanted? Don’t look at me like that, I always knew about your adorable little crush. It’s embarrassing, frankly. How many times did you jerk it in your sweet new body pretending it was me, huh?”

Words had abandoned him. His mind was a forest fire. But laced through the rage was shame because Jack was right, Jack always knew how to cut right through to the core of him. 

He used to wonder if Jack ever loved him, but now he knew. Now that he had had a taste of love, had been immersed in it for six sweet days, he understood. Jack did love him, the way a knife loved the throat it cut. It was the dark twin of what Tim felt for Rhys: obsession instead of devotion, possession rather than surrender. He belonged to Jack, and Jack was never going to give him up.

Jack was watching him, his eyes huge and dark. Jack always liked to watch those he killed, how the light dimmed in their eyes as he squeezed them by the neck. This was just the same. Tim could feel the weight of Jack’s hands around his throat. He fell to his knees, gasping. Jack was going to take him apart and put him back together the way Jack saw fit. Tim couldn’t bear the thought of who that person would be.

Jack sighed. “I know, Timtam, I know it’s hard. Couldn’t have been easy for you to come back, but I’m glad you saw sense. You miss your little buddy, right? I thought you might. Don’t worry, Jack’s got you covered. Here’s a little something I put together, consider it your welcome home present.”

His sly grin blinked out, replaced by a rolling recording, the image huge and distorted on the giant windows. At first Tim wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Then the sound kicked in and everything resolved into horrifying clarity. 

On the screen, Rhys was pinned beneath Tim ( _no that’s Jack it’s not me_ ) naked and bound. Rhys was gasping, his entire body glowing with sex and sweat. Rhys was crying out (“Jack, please, oh god--”) and someone else could mistake the tremble in his voice for pleasure, but Tim had seen Rhys afraid and in pain and the Rhys on the screen was both. A hand exactly the same as Tim’s wrapped around that long pale neck. The Jack on the screen was doing things to Rhys that Tim couldn’t bear to watch. 

He bent over and puked up drakefruit and bile. But even his retching couldn’t drown out the sound of Jack’s voice ( _my voice_ ) purring “There we go, sweetcheeks, I knew you could take it, look at that” and Rhys’ wet, panicked gasps. 

Rhys had come to him with bruises around his wrist. The memory hit him like a wrecking ball, knocking all the air from his lungs. Rhys had recoiled from him, had bitten him and made a run for it. And this was why. How could Rhys ever have tolerated the sight of him after what Jack had done?

And, oh god, did Rhys ever flinch, afterwards, when Tim made love to him in their private sanctuary? He thought Rhys had wanted every touch but now he couldn’t be sure. Everything looked so different now that he knew the truth. Had Rhys thought of Jack every time he felt Tim’s hands on him? Had Tim missed all the red flags because he so selfishly wanted Rhys for his own? Had Rhys suffered in silence to give in to him because it was what Rhys thought he had to do? Could it be possible that Tim’s dream of love had been a nightmare for him? 

He retched again but there was nothing left in his stomach. He curled over and put his hands over his ears but it couldn’t drown out the sound of skin on skin, of Rhys’ hitching moans. “Jack!” he screamed, voice cracking to be heard over the din. “Please, Jack, I’m sorry, please god I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, just make it stop!”

Jack’s image blinked back onto one window. The others were still roiling with images of flesh and twisted desire. Jack’s face filled the screen like a vengeful god. “You want my forgiveness, Timtam? You want to be my right hand man again? Prove it.”

Through eyes blurry with tears Tim could see the knife on the ground. Jack’s gift to him, to be used on those who betrayed him. He took it up in his grip. It was so heavy. It cast a dark glow over his hands.

Jack had never laid a violent finger on him; Jack didn’t need to. Violence was what Tim was paid to do.

It took him a long time to make the first cut. It took even longer after that to sever the bone, then more muscle and ligaments and skin. There was very little blood; the plasma blade cauterised as it cut. He bit through his lip and greyed out a few times, but the stench of burning meat was too acrid to ignore. At least the ringing in his ears blocked out all other sound. The sawing of the knife became the centre of his universe.

When it was done he threw the knife down and curled up around what was left of his wrist. His body flooded with endorphins as it tried to drown out the pain, tried to bring his pulse back down from the stratosphere before his heart gave out.

He might have fainted for a while. When he came around again Jack was running his fingers through Tim’s hair, his cheek braced tenderly against Tim’s head. “There you go, babe, you did so well, I’m proud of you.” He felt Jack press a kiss against his temple. “It’s over now. I forgive you.”

A sob wrenched itself free from Tim’s chest, loud in the blessed silence. He tried to bite it back but it tumbled from his aching mouth, followed by another, then another. It was a release of the pressure valve, a loosening of the noose. They wracked through him until his head spun, until he sagged into Jack’s arms. Jack held him through it and rocked him like a child. “Shh, it’s okay now,” Jack crooned into his ear. “I’ve got you, Timothy. Everything’s alright. I’m going to take such good care of you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third and final Act - we're in the home stretch now!

The board members around the room were nervous. Their eyes skated over Tim’s face and flinched away, their attention buzzing at him like gnats. They had the Hyperion instinct for danger and they could tell having him here was bad news.

Jack sat at the head of the table as their rightful king, with Tim at his side as Jack’s faithful shadow. Tim listened with half an ear at reports of the quarterly numbers. Hyperion’s place at the top of the ladder had slipped in the past year. Helios was rife with speculation: Handsome Jack was bored, he was losing his edge, Hyperion would soon be dead in the water if current trends continued. If the rumours bothered Jack, it didn’t show. He was leisurely working his way through lunch; the smell of it permeated the room, nauseating. No one else had been given food. The presenters stuttered through their scripts and flinched each time Jack’s fork scraped against the plate.

Tim scanned the faces around the table for signs of guilt, though he knew for a fact that none here were innocent of anything that mattered. His right hand tingled with a phantom itch and he flexed it, the machinery whirring smoothly. No expense had been spared in keeping him upgraded with the latest Hyperion tech; Jack himself had coded the bionics. The results were perfectly responsive, near indestructible and better than flesh. 

The hand made people nervous. It spoke clearly of what he was: not Handsome Jack’s double, but his weapon. The glowing H stamped into the metal marked him as Hyperion property.

“...and our latest investor is Gortys Inc., a biotech startup that’s had some success with GM patents in reversing desertification--”

“Wait,” Jack looked up from his food. “What the hell is a bunch of bleeding hearts doing investing in Hyperion? They know we make guns, right?”

The presenter, a woman with a razor-sharp bob, swallowed visibly before continuing. “They might be looking to diversify. There’s a lot of potential for biotech weapons, and having more involvement in social issues will help with Hyperion’s, uh, corporate image.”

Jack snorted. “Why are we worried about our corporate image? I’m the beautiful face of this company and people eat it up with a goddamn spoon.”

A man sitting across the table cleared his throat. Tim recognised him as Gutierrez, a long term board member and, given his longevity, relatively popular. He wore an expensive suit and a grim look of determination. “With all due respect, Mr President, you must have noticed Hyperion’s poor stock performance lately. Your habit of making drastic changes on a whim is making our stakeholders nervous.” 

It was unusual for anyone to criticize Handsome Jack to his face. A few heads around the room nodded in silent support. It looked like Gutierrez had drawn the short straw today. 

Jack leaned forward in his chair, attention on Gutierrez with a laser focus. To his credit, Gutierrez returned his stare without dropping his eyes. The others in the room tensed, like animals sensing an impending earthquake. “Dan, right?” Jack said with a smile.

“It’s Dave--”

“Dan, you look like a smart man, you should know that you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”

“There’s breaking eggs, and there’s shaking up the corporate structure on a weekly basis without consultation.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Hyperion’s getting stagnant, I’m just draining the pool.”

Gutierrez was either very stupid or very determined. Tim could see a sheen of sweat forming on the man’s artificially smooth forehead but he ploughed on. “We’re no longer the employer of choice. People don’t want to work for us if they’re not certain they won’t be forced to take a spacewalk at the slightest whim.”

“Is that what you’re angling for, Dan? Cuz it sounds like that’s what you’re angling for.”

Gutierrez’s hands clenched on the arm rests of his chair. “This is not a dictatorship, Jack. All you may be interested in is finding your bullshit vault key but the rest of us have a company to run. We won’t allow you to put your interests ahead of the company.”

“Allow?” Jack leaned back, rolling the word around his mouth thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of words, Dan. Are you speaking for the rest of the board here?”

The heavy silence was answer enough. Jack looked around the room, giving each person a quick assessment. “Alright then,” Jack said, and gestured at Tim.

Tim had Gutierrez by the neck before the other man could flinch and hauled him across the table. Pinned in place, Gutierrez thrashed like a landed fish, his expensive shoes leaving scuff marks across the varnished table top. Fingers clawed at Tim’s flesh hand as the other man’s face turned red, then purple, but Tim ignored him. He was watching Jack for his cue. 

Jack took a leisurely bite of his lunch and waved his fork at the room. People shrank from it like it was a loaded gun. “What you dumdums seem to forget,” he said, chewing, “is that I am Hyperion. I don’t give a shit how many shares you’ve got, I built up this company and I can tear it down with my bare hands if I want to. Now I know most of you have a couple brain cells to rub together, but just in case you haven’t received the message, I’ll have a visual demonstration for the whole class.” He nodded at Tim.

Gutierrez screamed at the first blow, but as Tim kept bringing his metal fist down into Gutierrez’s face the screams turned into gurgles, then silence. Over the sound of wet flesh and cracking bone was Jack relishing his meal (“Man, this chow mein is something else, the flavour profile, the right mix of textures, goddamn I could eat this all day”). Tim’s arm rose and fell like a piston. Gutierrez had stopped kicking. His fingers fell away from Tim’s grip around his throat. The joints of Tim’s cybernetics were getting clogged with gore but he kept going. Blood splattered his clothes; it dripped from his lashes, making him blink. He was empty as a cup, a machine at Jack’s disposal. 

Deep inside himself, the small voice of someone he used to know said, “Oh, Tim,” but he blocked it out. 

At last Jack gestured for him to stop. Tim let go and stood back, barely breathing hard. His heart was as steady as a metronome. The man on the table looked more like raw meat than a person. Jack crumpled his napkin and tossed it, bouncing it off Gutierrez’s unmoving chest. 

The rest of the room had huddled together in horror. Someone was sobbing. Tim stared over their heads because none of it was important. It was just another day in the office.

Jack stood with a scrape of his chair; the other board members flinched like it had been a gunshot. “Well, what are you idiots waiting for? Meeting’s over. Get out.”

There was a mad scramble for the door. People hurried past the corpse with their faces averted, as if they hadn’t ever seen a dead body before when Tim knew they had sanctioned murders from the comfort of their executive offices. It was different, he supposed, when there weren't a dozen emails and henchmen between the order and the end result. 

When they were alone Jack came and took up Tim’s right hand in his own. Jack used the tail of his coat to wipe clear some of the gore, turning the cybernetics to catch the light. “Well,” Jack said, “looks like Dan had a pretty hard head. The plates shouldn’t dent like that. Go down to Robotics and get yourself fixed up, cupcake. And you can tell them if it happens again I’ll airlock the whole damn floor. Can’t have my main man walking around with inferior tech, now can we?” He gave Tim’s shoulder a squeeze.

Tim held very still. “What’s next on the schedule?” 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Eager beaver, ain’t ya? I think you’ve earned yourself a break, killer. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that it’s our special day. Take the rest of the afternoon off and go enjoy the present I left in your room. Five years is worth celebrating, don’t you think?”

Tim’s heart gave a dull thud in his chest. Five years since he returned to the fold, since Jack broke him down and built him back up again. The number was meaningless, just one of many more stretching out before him until Jack finally tired of him. 

He smiled, because it would please Jack. The other man grinned and gave him a pat on the cheek. “Call janitorial on your way out, pumpkin. Can’t have Dan leaking all day, I just had these carpets replaced.”

Tim made his way down to Robotics because it was what Jack wanted, and Tim was good at his job. The department head down there personally took charge of the repairs. Dr Ayoade wasn’t fazed by blood. She bent over her work, carefully cleaning away the mess before she got down to replacing the intricate interlocking plates. 

As she worked, she gestured at his face and said, “When are you ever going to get that fixed up?”

Reflexively he reached up to touch the fractures in his mask. The motion jostled the hand she was working on and she raised her graying head to glare at him. “Sorry,” Tim said, then, “Jack likes it this way.”

_(“Let’s keep it,” Jack had said, “as a little reminder.”)_

The mask, like his hand, conveyed a simple but effective message: _If this is what Jack did to his favourite, imagine what he would do to you._

Since his return Jack had kept him close, much to the surprise of everyone else on Helios. Any number of the frozen corpses orbiting the station could testify to the quality of Jack’s mercy, but Tim had bucked the trend. A lot of people would consider Timothy Lawrence a lucky man.

He had thought it would be hard to submit, to return to his old life as Jack’s shadow, but Jack had made it simple. Jack had given him the tool to carve away the illusion of freedom. Life was easy once he stopped straining at the leash. Whatever he wanted he could have, as long as it was also what Jack wanted. 

After a while Tim stopped dreaming about neon forests and dimpled smiles. It had been a relief to stop waking up with his face wet. 

When the repairs were done Tim made his way up. His new rooms were at the very top of Helios, right next to Jack’s suite. The place was luxuriously appointed, filled with beautiful things and completely, utterly impersonal. It always smelled like sterilized, recycled air. It also had the best view of Pandora from every oversized window. Tim spent as little time here as possible.

The second he walked through the door something immediately set his teeth on edge. A quick scan showed nothing had been moved: the pristine bench space and bare bookshelves were untouched; the ornaments chosen by some stylist who Tim had never met were gleaming in their rightful places. 

He stalked through the rooms, a hand on his gun. It was highly unlikely that an assassin would have managed to infiltrate this floor, but Tim was careful.

Every room he passed was empty except for the last. Someone was in his bed.

As he stopped, frozen in the doorway, the prone figure sat up. Sheets pooled around his naked waist, displaying his metal arm, the elaborate tattoo. The man whose face haunted Tim smiled and said, “Hey you, what’s taking so long? I’ve been waiting all afternoon.”

The sound of his voice chilled Tim to the bone. His feet were moving without his conscious thought, bringing him to the side of the bed. The other man gazed up at him with mismatched eyes warm with intent, like it was something ordinary, like Tim wasn’t still covered in someone else’s blood.

With a trembling hand Tim reached out and ran a thumb over the man’s temple port. The man made a soft sound and leaned into his touch. Tim couldn’t stop himself from looking over every part of him, from the soft waves of his brown hair to the shapes of his long legs under the sheets. His heart was racing in his chest. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Who are you?”

The man gave him a coquettish look. “Don’t be silly, Tim. You know who I am.” Long fingers tangled in Tim’s jacket and tugged him down. Shell pink lips parted on a sigh. “Don’t you think you’ve kept me waiting long enough?”

Tim brought a knee onto the bed, letting himself be tugged down. It had been so long since he had anyone in his room, since someone touched him with this kind of intent. The man was arching up to meet him, the sheets falling far enough to reveal that he was completely bare beneath them. Up close, the man smelled wrong, nothing at all like the mix of warm skin and dark earth that Tim could still recall as easily as closing his eyes. Beside one creamy thigh was a small glittering device. Tim cupped that soft cheek, then trailed his metal hand down to the man’s pale neck. With his other hand he reached down and crushed the device.

The illusion fizzled as the device sparked and died. The tattoos faded away; the cybernetic arm turned back to flesh. Without the holographic overlay the man was an attractive stranger, his features almost like the real thing but different enough to make a mockery of what Tim had tried so hard to forget.

The man choked as Tim pinned him to the headboard by the neck, his legs kicking uselessly under the sheets. Tim leaned his entire weight onto his hand, the metal unforgiving on soft skin. His face felt tight and he realised he was snarling like an animal. Air was sawing out of his chest. He leaned in until he was close enough to kiss those purpling lips. Ordinary brown eyes shiny with tears looked pleadingly up at him as the man struggled in his grip. 

“Did Jack put you up to this?” Tim said, barely recognising his own voice.

The other man gagged, clawing at his hand in an echo of Gutierrez’ struggle. A sudden memory ( _Jack’s hand around a pale throat_ ) spiked like a splinter under a fingernail, making him flinch. Tim jerked back and let go. The stranger curled over and gasped, his bare body wracking with the effort to pull in air. “Please,” the man rasped out. “Handsome Jack paid the agency to have me here, he arranged the holo-device. He said he wanted to surprise you.” He coughed raggedly. A necklace of bruises was forming under his chin. “Please, don’t kill me--”

( _“Don’t hurt me,” someone said softly_ )

Tim tried to breathe through the red haze clouding his head. His hands flexed. He could still feel the shape of the man’s neck, the crunch of Gutierrez’s face under his fist. “Get out,” he said. 

The stranger scrambled to his feet, still naked, and fled the room like a pack of skags were snapping at his heel. At the sound of his front door slamming shut Tim sat down on the bed, all the strength gone out of him. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling fistfuls of it until his eyes watered. Memories he had fought so hard to keep buried were clawing their way up to the surface: Rhys arching into his hands, Rhys asleep in their bed, Rhys begging for Jack’s mercy. His mouth tasted like vomit. His right hand throbbed with phantom pains. He was achingly, miserably hard. 

No one had touched him since he had been back, no one but Jack. The only time he ever touched another human was in violence. Desire wasn’t something he allowed himself to have, not anymore, not since Jack made him watch what Jack had done. Desire was guilt. Desire was a knife sawing through sinew and bone. He ran a hand over his face and flinched at the cool touch of metal. 

Five years on Helios. Five years with no news of Rhys, not a sign, nothing but memories that he couldn’t bear to examine. He should be happy, because that meant Rhys was safe, that Jack had kept his promise, but he couldn’t remember what being happy felt like. Up here on Helios, Tim was surrounded by a thousand other people and still completely, utterly alone. 

He jerked to his feet and made for the liquor cabinet where bottles glittered like gems. He chose one at random and drank deeply from it, letting it burn all the way down. Beyond the windows of his rooms was Pandora, small and bright and almost close enough to touch. 

That night, for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of electric waters, soft skin and warm metal under his hands, and the scent of rich dark earth. If he felt happy in the dream, he had forgotten it by the morning. 

*

The next day he was summoned to R&D. The techs had been working on the latest line of energy weapons, and Jack always loved to play with new toys. 

Tim had woken with a roaring hangover. A handful of pills took care of the headache but did nothing for the churning in his belly. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a mess but that didn’t matter anymore. No one could mistake him for Handsome Jack, not with his hand, the state of his face. He wasn’t Jack’s double anymore but a cautionary tale: this was what came of disloyalty. 

Jack was at the firing range, a rack of experimental weapons laid out for his perusal. Tim watched him handle the guns lovingly, more gently than Jack ever did another human. It had been years since Jack had personally set boots on the ground to bring his wrath on some unfortunate bandit camp, but he hadn’t lost any of his deadly grace. His hands moved fluidly over the mechanisms, breaking down parts and putting them back together until he was satisfied. When Jack sighted down the scopes the targets disintegrated like wet tissue. Jack’s grin was the stuff of movies. 

A memory of the early days rolled over Tim: Jack teaching him how to shoot, that big chest braced against his back, Jack’s mouth against his ear. “Breathe easy, pumpkin, just give that trigger a tickle when you’re ready.” When Tim had drilled a hole in the dead centre of the target Jack had purred, “Good boy,” sounding delighted, and that high was something Tim had chased after ever since. 

The memory churned like wet cement in his guts. Tim hoped he wouldn’t be sick. 

Jack spotted him and waved him over. Tim dragged his feet. He felt scraped raw, his skin stretched too thin over his bones, but none of it mattered, because Jack wanted him here. As he approached, Jack said, “You look like shit, pumpkin. What happened, you didn’t like your present?” 

“Sorry, Jack,” he said dully. “Thank you.”

Jack assessed him, eyes glittering, then sighed. “You’re still not over it, huh? Let it go, babe, I guarantee you Rhysie’s long forgotten all about you.” He lifted the gun and sent another volley down the range. “People are fickle like that. Loyalty, friendship, deathless romance; it’s all bullshit. We can’t have anything nice because people are dicks, every single one of them. The only one you can depend on is yourself.” Jack put down the gun and turned. The hand he put on Tim’s cheek smelled like destruction. “That’s why I’ve got you, Timtam. You’re me and I’m you. That’s why I always forgive you, no matter how often you disappoint me.”

Jack was smiling at him, his thumb brushing over the cracks on Tim’s cheek. He wanted to push Jack away; he wanted to lean into it. He was keenly aware of the people milling around them, scientists and researchers and drones alike, everyone with their eyes averted. He wondered what this looked like to them, whether they pitied or envied him. A small part of him wondered if they saw him at all. 

His head was killing him again. Maybe that was why he said, “What do you want from me?” 

“Oh pumpkin,” Jack said. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

Was that true? It felt wrong, but looking at Jack he could tell that Jack believed every word. And that was Jack’s magic, wasn’t it? Jack never lied; he was easily bored and broke things for fun and forced the world to bend around what he wanted, but he kept his word. Jack had taken care of him, just as he said he would. There had been so many surgeries to fix what Tim did to himself, to have him fitted with the prosthetic, to rewire him until Jack was satisfied with the result. Jack had been there every step of the way, his hand warm and heavy on Tim’s shoulder. 

“I’m not happy,” he heard himself say. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Well, duh,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “I can see that, pumpkin. Why else would I spend a lot of time and money to arrange your present, huh? Then you go and hurt my feelings by tossing it out the door. All work and no play is making you a very dull boy. I thought a little action would cheer you up, but if getting your dick sucked isn’t doing the job, then we’ll try for a different kind of fun.” Jack grinned, all his teeth showing. “I’ve got just the thing for you, Timtam. Help yourself to whatever gun you like the look of and pack a bag. We’re taking a little trip to Pandora.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get what you deserve.

The sun was strange and too bright after so many years spent under Helios' artificial UV lights. Pandora stank of skag shit and baked sand, and Tim sucked in big breaths of it. It was a relief to smell anything other than sterile recycled air. He turned into the hot wind so that it could caress the bare skin of his face and neck. Though he was already sweating under the relentless sun, it did little to thaw the ice that had taken up permanent residence in his chest. 

Sealing away the tenderest parts of himself had been necessary for survival. It was the only way he could be what Jack wanted him to be, to do his job without the temptation to eat a bullet. There were still days where death seemed like a kind of mercy, but it was a mercy he didn't deserve. He had chosen this life, struck a bargain with Jack, and he would follow through to the bitter end.

Whether by accident or cruel design they were not far from the old Atlas facility. He longed for a glimpse of neon trees. He wondered if he could slip away and look at it, even from a distance. He wondered what parts of himself Jack would make him carve away if he did. 

“Relax, killer,” Jack said. “Unwad your panties for a minute and you might even have some fun.” He was lounging against the hood of their car, sunglasses propped on the edge of his nose like they were here on vacation. He had been riding a manic high all day; whenever Jack was in this kind of mood someone usually ended up dead.

“What are we doing here, Jack?” He didn't like having Jack here without backup. Despite the man’s aura of invincibility, Pandora never lacked in threats and there were so many ways things could go to shit with little notice. It was Tim's job to make sure Jack was out of harm's way. Duty was all he had left, and he would not fail.

“Don’t you trust me, pumpkin?” Jack grinned at him, eyes shining over the rim of his sunglasses. When Tim didn’t take the bait Jack sucked at his teeth. “You’re such an old woman sometimes, Timmy. Good thing I like you. You’re here because I want you to be here, and that should be good enough. Now look sharp, we’ve got company.”

Following Jack’s gaze, Tim could see the column of dust coming toward them, a car at its front. Tim’s hand dropped to his gun. A single vehicle would probably not present too much of a fight if it came down to it, and Jack certainly seemed confident, but the encounter with Jack’s gift had left him unsettled. He was keenly aware of the shapes of things he didn’t want to think about stirring beneath the ice. It set his teeth on edge, made him want to claw out of his skin. Part of him even welcomed a fight.

Jack slid off their car in a fluid movement and stood, hands on his hips, his coattails snapping in the breeze. Excitement rolled from him in waves. Tim fell into place beside him and watched the new arrivals approach.

The car was more luxurious than the usual Pandoran fare, its tinted windows revealing little of the occupants. It rolled to a stop a few feet away. Two women stepped from its dark interior into the light. They seemed surprisingly young though their faces had the hard look of caution common on people who had managed to survive on Pandora. Neither looked like they were armed. Tim shifted his feet.

There was something familiar about the women though he was sure he had never met either before. The uneasy sense of deja vu only intensified as Athena stepped out behind them. Her gun and shield were in plain view though she kept them on her back for now. Tim flinched as her eyes snapped to his face. He dropped his gaze almost on instinct. It felt like that piercing stare could see straight through him, right to the centre where all the bloody accounts of his crimes were kept. Shame rolled through him, hot and sharp.

Beside him, Jack made a sound of delighted surprise. “Athena, been a long time. Still not dead I see.”

“Asshole,” Athena said in greeting.

“Times must be tough if you’re playing muscle for a couple of filthy bandits, no offense ladies,” Jack said in oily tones. “If you want a job I can always fit you in, as long as you ask nicely, of course.”

“Keep talking,” Athena growled. “I’m just looking for a reason to make you bleed.”

“Play nice now, there’s a good girl. We’re here to do business so why don’t you let the grownups talk, hmm?”

Athena’s lunge forward was forestalled by her companion. The other woman was well dressed for a local, her neat dark hair tucked beneath a tan hat. She tipped her chin at Tim. “You brought along one guy? Where’s the rest of your entourage?” 

“Oh, don’t you worry about the size of my entourage, sweet thing,” Jack grinned. “I promise Timtam and I are more than man enough for you three. But just in case you get any funny ideas, you should know I’ve got a couple of moonshots and two dozen loader bots ready to deploy if things get hot and heavy.”

All three women made faces at him, which made Jack laugh. “Alright ladies, enough foreplay, let’s get down to the main event.”

Hat and her companion, another young woman with neat dreads tied back at her neck, moved to the rear of their car and popped the trunk. The two of them pulled out a heavy looking box which they brought around and left at Jack’s feet.

Light struck the box in strange ways that made Tim’s stomach clench. It shone almost too brightly to look at, the patterns etched onto its sides moving queasily like an oil slick in sunlight. Blood rushed to his head in a spike of pain. The last time he saw a box like this he had lost his face.

“One vault key,” Hat said, “complete with coordinates for the Vault of the Warrior. It’s a bargain at 30 million dollars.”

Jack barely seemed to hear her; he looked like a man witnessing the face of god. He crouched over the box and ran reverent hands over its edges, his face openly hungry. “Hello beautiful,” he said softly. 

Tim felt lightheaded. After so many years of searching and so much spilled blood, here was everything Jack had ever wanted. Tim couldn’t help swallowing against the lump of fear rising in his throat. He couldn’t bear to think about what Jack had done to make this possible, and how many people had died along the way.

Jack sighed with pleasure and stood back up. He took off his sunglasses and tucked it into his pocket with deliberate movements. For the first time since the women’s arrival he looked at Tim. His pupils were huge and dark, sucking in all the light. “Go on, Timmy. Open it.”

The bottom fell out of Tim’s stomach. A boulder was crushing down on his chest. Involuntary shivers wracked through his body, making his teeth chatter as he said “Jack, please.” His throat ached with the memory of screams.

Jack stared him down, unblinking. “Do it.”

Dimly he heard Athena make a noise of disgust. She had been there too; she understood.

It took all of Tim’s courage to kneel in front of the case. His hands shook as he laid them on the lid, his metal fingers chiming against the hard edges. If this was another trap, he only hoped that there would not be enough of himself left afterwards for Jack to pick up. There were only so many times a man could be broken down and built back up again.

Cold sweat ran down his back. Tim shoved his fear deep beneath the ice and flipped the lock.

Light washed over him, soft and cool. The key nestled inside the case glowed gently, a cone of luminescent stone. It looked too beautiful for something that had been the cause of so much destruction. 

Tim sagged, heart pounding in his ears. He was still alive. A part of him felt bitterly cheated. 

Jack reached past him and took up the key, cradling it tenderly in his arms. “There you are,” Jack crooned. “I’ve waited so long to meet you, sweetheart.”

Someone cleared their throat. Tim looked up to find Hat and Dreads exchanging a cryptic glance. Athena was looking at him with pity in her eyes. 

“Ladies, you’ve surpassed my expectations,” Jack said, grinning. “I gotta say, this is the first time Pandora hasn’t disappointed me. I’m sure you’re as eager to get paid as I’m keen on getting off this orbiting shitball, so I’ll cut straight to it. Sit tight for a sec while I call my guy.”

Dreads spoke up. “We want to renegotiate the payment.”

Jack tipped his head her way, his smile growing hard. “Little late in the game to be bargaining now, kitten. I’m afraid you’re not gonna get an extra cent out of me.”

“We don’t want the money. We want him,” Dreads said, pointing at Tim.

Tim stared at her blankly. There must be a mistake, no one would give up 30 million for a man like him.

 _But someone did, once,_ a little voice whispered in his head. 

It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t heard anything from Rhys this entire time; Rhys had moved on and forgotten about him, just as Tim had wanted. To believe otherwise was just false, cruel hope.

Jack gave the women a dark look. “Let me get this straight: you’re prepared to turn down more money than you could possibly imagine so you can, what, take a spin on my body double? C’mon ladies, if you’re looking for a good time you don’t need to settle for second best. For the price of a vault key I’d be happy to personally rock your world.” Despite his casual tone Tim could see the growing tension in his shoulders. Jack’s hand twitched toward his gun. 

Athena could also read Jack’s intention. She drew her gun and shield from her back. Tim had his gun out and raised in a bare second, keeping all three women in his sights. 

“We can’t let you leave without payment,” Hat said.

“Is that right?” Jack laughed without humour. “You know, I was actually going to pay up, but now I think I’m just going to shoot all of you and take what’s mine with me.” He jerked his head at Tim. “Get killing, pumpkin.”

Jack’s command was a heavy weight across the back of Tim’s neck. Disobedience was impossible. A small part of him yammered that Athena was not the enemy, she had saved his life once, but the voice was very quiet and easy to shrug off. His heart thrummed steadily within its frozen cage as he considered the odds. 

Hat and Dreads were easy prey, but Athena was another matter. She had stepped in front of the other two, her face set in grim lines. Tim wasn’t sure if he could best her, but if he lost, if she managed to kill him, then perhaps that was a kind of mercy too. He knew he could depend on Athena to follow through. His finger tightened on the trigger.

The snick of a car door opening was very loud in the tense silence. From the edge of his vision Tim could see polished boots emerge from the car, followed by a pair of long legs. Metal fingers wrapped over the car roof as a man stepped into the light, the sun glowing on his dark hair.

That familiar silhouette dragged Tim’s eyes toward it. His gun arm dropped, unnoticed. His entire world narrowed to the steady warmth in those mismatched eyes as Rhys smiled and said, “Hello Tim.”

The thick ice inside Tim groaned at the sound of that voice. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface as huge things roiled beneath the frozen waters. He took a half step forward helplessly. 

“Hold it.” Jack’s voice cracked like a whip across his back. Tim froze, trembling, caught between duty and hope. 

Those mismatched eyes turned their attention to Jack. Tim mourned the loss even as his lungs started working again. He sucked at the air, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision. There was a dull roar of pain in his head, growing steadily louder, bearing down on him like an oncoming train. 

“Well, hello kitten,” he heard Jack purr. If Jack was surprised by Rhys’ appearance he hid it well. “Love the new threads, though if you undo any more buttons on that shirt you’re going to cause a riot. Did you finally decide to play to your strengths and start sucking dick full time? Cuz you know you were a terrible con man.”

The barbs slid off Rhys without landing. The years had polished him to a hard shine; he looked older, powerful, a man in control of his own fate. Tim couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

Rhys brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. “You’re right, Jack. The Atlas shitshow was my own fault. You outsmarted me, I’m man enough to admit that. I decided to try something different for a while, and it turns out I’m pretty good at running a company. You remember Gortys Inc., the recent investor that just bought a five percent share in Hyperion? That’s mine.” He drew himself up, ECHOeye glinting, his smile like a knife. “You know I used to idolize you. I always knew you were the bad guy, but I admired you anyway. I still do. You taught me to be smarter, meaner, and to bide my time. So it’s thanks to you that I’m about to pull off the biggest con in my entire career.”

The hairs on Tim’s neck stood up at the same time he saw Jack come to the same conclusion. A muscle jumped in Jack’s clenched jaw as he opened his hand and let the vault key drop. It hit the ground and broke apart. Tim could see now that the paint was still tacky on some of the pieces; it had left smudges of ink on Jack’s clothes. 

Jack’s eyes glittered darkly. “Congratulations, kiddo. You got one over me. I’ll give you a second to enjoy it before my loader bots turn you and your friends into paste.”

“Sorry Jack, but that’s not going to happen.” Rhys made a show of checking his watch, raising one exquisite brow. “I believe the emergency stakeholders meeting up on Helios is just wrapping up. The board is moving to have you declared legally dead. With no designated successor, all your assets will be divided amongst the remaining members. It goes without saying that Gortys Inc will get its share too.” Rhys bared his teeth in a shark’s grin. "If you make it back to Helios in the next hour you might be able to overturn that decision, but, oh that's right," he raised one shining finger in mock realisation, "all your money's tied up in your Hyperion accounts, which the vultures are picking over right now. Guess that means you're stuck here enjoying Pandora's hospitality for the foreseeable future."

“You’re bluffing,” Jack said, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. 

Rhys just quirked his head. “Why don’t you call your loader bots?”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jack reached up to open his ECHOcomm. With each passing second where his call went unanswered Jack’s face grew darker, his features drawing together with murderous intent. Tim cringed away from the heat of Jack’s rage.

Rhys slotted his hands into his pockets and rocked easily on his heels. “Face it, Jack. Your reign of terror is over. Once I got my foot in the door it was so easy to persuade the other board members to cut you loose. Turns out murdering significant stakeholders in front of their peers makes a guy unpopular. They were just waiting for someone else to pull the trigger and I was happy to be the bad guy. The last thing we needed was a reason to get you off Helios, and what better lure for Handsome Jack than the promise of a vault key?”

Jack had grown very still, drawing into himself the way a black hole drew in light as it consumed everything in its path. The look on his face made Tim want to fall to his knees. 

"Don't do anything stupid, Jack," said Rhys. "Let Tim go and we can all walk away from this."

"Not an option," Jack snarled.

Tim flinched as Jack stepped behind him. An arm around his chest reeled him in until they were pressed together, close as lovers. Jack smelled like power and ambition, like the only home Tim could remember. Jack’s mouth brushed his ear as he said, “C’mon pumpkin, we’re gonna do great things, you and me. But first I need you to kill these pissants so we can get the hell out of here.”

Jack gripped around his wrist and lifted Tim’s arm so that the gun was trained on Rhys. At this distance Tim couldn’t miss even accounting for the tremour in his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut against the look of absolute trust shining from Rhys’ face. He could feel the thudding of Jack’s heart at his back, its insistent rhythm the drum beat he had marched to for so many years.

“Tim,” Rhys said gently, “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but I’m here now. Let me help you, please.”

“Don’t listen to him, cupcake,” Jack said urgently in his ear. “He’s just trying to get at me through you. He doesn’t want you, how could he possibly want you after what we did? He just wants to use you because that’s what people do. It’s just you and me now, babe, just like the old days. Let me take care of you, I'm the only one who knows what you need.” Jack’s arm tightened across Tim’s chest like a steel band. “C’mon, Timtam, shoot.”

Tim’s finger spasmed on the trigger. It was hard to catch his breath against Jack’s crushing grip. Rhys was looking at him like Tim was something precious he had lost and found again. The ice inside his chest shuddered, cracking open, splitting him apart. 

“No,” Tim said. 

He threw his head back. Jack cried out as his nose crunched against the bone of Tim’s skull. He kicked Jack’s feet out from under him and the other man fell to his knees. Jack’s eyes were wide with shock over the hand he had clasped to his face. Blood dripped from under his fingers, splattering in the dirt. The gun was heavy in Tim’s hand. Jack’s eyes darted between it and Tim’s face. 

This was the first time he had ever made Jack bleed. In a lightning moment of clarity Tim knew he could destroy Jack. He could break Jack down and take him to pieces the way Jack had done to so many others. The thought brought no satisfaction, only a sick feeling of relief as Tim realised he wouldn't. In this moment he knew with complete certainty that he could never be Handsome Jack.

Jack reached for him with a blood smeared hand. “Please, Tim, don’t do this. You’re all I have left.” 

He looked into the abyss in Jack’s eyes. Jack was his whole world, the only constant in Tim’s life, but the reverse was also true. Jack had spent his entire life alone, holding himself above the crowd with his ambition and arrogance and sheer force of will. Tim was the only one who had been allowed close because he was made in Jack’s image.

Jack had no one else by deliberate design. Without Hyperion, without money and power and Tim, Jack would be completely alone in an uncaring universe.

For the very first time in Tim’s life, he felt sorry for Jack. His heart ached with it. He couldn’t keep the sound of it from his voice even as he knew Jack would hate it. “I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t want to be you anymore.”

Hurt spasmed across that beautiful mask a split second before it was locked down. Jack bared his bloodied teeth. “Big mistake, Timtam.” Then he disappeared.

“Shit, he’s got a cloak!” Athena shouted. The women clustered together behind her shield. From the corner of his eye Tim could see Rhys standing apart, entirely exposed. 

“Rhys, get back in the car!” he called out, heart racing. Jack was going to hurt him, Jack was going to do everything in his power to destroy what Tim held dear. Having Rhys stand out in the open was like having his heart on a platter for Jack to crush. He sprinted toward Rhys whose eyes had grown huge and terrified. He had to protect Rhys, to get him out of danger. 

Athena was closer and turned to shove Rhys back toward the open car door. Thank god. But Rhys was fighting her, he was struggling against her grip, his eyes fixed on Tim. “No, let me go!” Rhys said, stubborn and stupid and so beautiful Tim could cry. Nothing had changed; beneath his new hard shell Rhys was the same bullheaded idiot he had always been.

An arm snapped around Tim’s throat, unseen. He reared back as the hard shape of a muzzle dug into his spine. Jack hissed in his ear, “I keep my promises, Timothy.” Tim had time enough to think, _Yes, thank you_ , because Jack was here with him and Rhys was safe. Then the bullets tore through him.

“No!” Rhys screamed.

Heat blossomed inside Tim, melting the last of the ice. Dimly he heard a struggle and the sound of gunfire, but all of it was very far away. The ground was hard beneath his cheek. He could smell heat scorched earth and the scent of a distant forest carried on the air. Something like happiness stirred in his chest.

Hands were pulling at him, turning him. The hard ground under his head was replaced by a warm lap as Rhys leaned over him, his lovely face twisted with anguish. Tim wanted to soothe away that look. He couldn’t understand why Rhys was crying, not when he felt so happy. Rhys was so very clever, he had grown and thrived and beaten Jack at his own game. 

_It's okay,_ he tried to say, _you saved me,_ but the words were drowned in a mouthful of blood. Rhys’ hands were pressing hard at his chest. It should hurt but all Tim could feel was warmth. It suffused through every part of him. Rhys was here with him right now and there was nothing more Tim could wish for. Joy lifted him on its swelling tide and he let himself be swept up, held trembling to the light before he slipped under the soft, sweet waters.


	16. Chapter 16

The neon forest pressed up against the windows of his room, a riotous tangle of foliage and blooming vines. The sight was so strange yet so familiar that Tim couldn’t be sure he wasn’t dreaming. He blinked again, eyes gritty and heavy like he had been asleep for days. The dream didn’t change. Beneath the bland clean smell of hospitals he could catch the scent of green and growing things. 

From force of habit he went down the checklist of waking up in an unfamiliar place: injuries (no missing parts, pressure of bandages around his torso, imminent death unlikely), environment (white walls, medical equipment, if he never saw the inside of a medibay again it would still be too soon), potential threats (one).

Hat was sitting at the side of his bed, silent and watchful. She held a pistol like she knew how to use it with the business end pointed at his heart. 

He thumbed through dusty memories for the data, then had to swallow a few times to force the words out of his parched mouth. “You must be Fiona.”

“That’s right,” she said. “And who the fuck are you?”

Strange question. “You don’t know?”

“Oh, I know you’re Handsome Jack’s attack dog. I know you’re the reason my brother was almost murdered by half of Pandora, and I know you left him alone in the middle of nowhere so you could crawl back to be Jack’s bitch. But I want to hear it from you.”

Tim swallowed again. “I’m nobody.”

She watched him impassively. Her pistol didn’t waver. “You know, the morning after you left him we found Rhys wandering in a snow storm like a crazy person. He was trying to find you. If we hadn’t restrained him, I’m pretty sure he would have walked the twenty miles to the nearest fast travel so he could follow you back to Helios.”

Tim could see it perfectly: Rhys stumbling through a blizzard, calling out for him, panicked and half frozen but determined. He squeezed his eyes shut against a stab of phantom pain. “I’m glad you were there for him,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.”

“We’re his family, we always have his back. Which is why I’m going to ask you some more questions, and if I don’t like the answer, I’m going to shoot.”

He looked at her. “You’re not going to shoot me. You just saved my life.”

She shrugged. “That was Rhys’ choice, not mine. I have poor impulse control so I don’t know if I really will shoot, but I’m the one holding the gun so I get to ask the questions.”

“Fair enough.”

Fiona sat back in her chair, her pistol hand balanced on one knee. “What happened between my brother and Handsome Jack? I know the job went to spectacular shit, but he won’t talk about it.”

His stomach clenched at the memory of what Jack had done. His wrist throbbed dully. “If Rhys doesn’t want to talk about it, then it’s not my place to say.”

Her mouth flattened, but she didn’t shoot. “Alright then. Why did you leave him?”

“If I had stayed, then Jack would have found us, killed him, and reduced this place to rubble.” It had been the right decision. Even now he didn’t regret it, though he regretted the ripple effects, the pain and the blood and the long separation, but it had been necessary. 

She bit her lip, then said, “What do you want with Rhys?”

 _Everything, anything, whatever he’ll allow me,_ was the first thought that leapt to mind. The guilt that immediately followed cut him like a knife. What right did he have to expect anything of Rhys? _He doesn’t want you,_ Jack had said, and it must be true. Rhys might have chosen to save his life, but Rhys wasn’t here. Tim drew a sharp breath around the lump in his throat and said, “Honestly, I never expected to see him again. I don’t want anything other than to know that he’s safe and cared for, and I can see that he is. That’s enough.”

Fiona had a good face for intimidation, but Tim had played that game for a long time and she was hardly a master. He returned her look steadily. After another long moment she took her finger off the trigger. 

“What are you going to do now?” she said.

Tim drew a complete blank. He had never thought he would make it this far, and now that he had neither Jack nor Rhys he had no idea what kind of life was possible. He gave her a wry smile. “Maybe you should shoot me after all.”

*

 _Shit shit shit._ Rhys barrelled out of his office toward the medibay, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to pass out at his desk but he had been so tired. Every minute he had spare from sorting out the clusterfuck that was Hyperion without Handsome Jack had been spent at Tim’s bedside. He hadn’t had the luxury of proper sleep in days, and as he dashed down the corridors now he thought longingly of simpler times when he only had to worry about psychos and rakks. 

He used to think Jack’s work schedule was insane, but now that he had his own company to run, he understood. There were so many moving parts to keeping the corporate machine working smoothly, let alone trying to use that machine to bring down the most powerful man in the galaxy. But despite the hard work involved, Rhys loved every minute. Gortys Inc. was both an investment and an escape, something to pull him out of his own head whenever hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him. 

He knew perfectly well that every minute wasted was another opportunity for Jack to sink his claws deeper into Tim. That fear had driven him to perfect his plan, to bide his time in the face of every instinct that screamed at him to get to Tim now, right now, because he knew he would only ever get one shot at success. 

There had been immense satisfaction in watching Jack fume. The look on that perfect mask had made every dark moment of the past five years worthwhile. He only wished he had more time to enjoy his triumph before Jack fucked it up for him.

Fuck Jack and his ability to mess with the best laid plans. Rhys had been prepared for blood, that was why he had brought along Athena, and why his people had the best shields money could buy. But he should have known that Jack would go for Tim instead. It was only because Rhys had a backup team of medics at the ready that they had managed to stabilize Tim at all. 

His throat tightened painfully at the memory of Tim smiling up at him, as if bleeding out in the middle of the desert was his fondest wish. He was going to be having nightmares about that for years to come, he just knew it. 

He had to be there when Tim woke up. Rhys had spent the past few days pinballing between the twin urges of yelling at Tim for scaring the shit out of him or kissing him until they both passed out. Hell, he was a multitasker, he could do both.

He skidded around the corner and almost ran into Fiona as she stepped out of Tim’s room. 

“Fi? What are you doing here?”

Suspicion raised its ugly head as her eyes darted away from his face. “Just visiting our friend, same as you.”

He tried to look past her into the room but her hand on his arm brought him up short. “Rhys, are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” There was no question of that. “You know how hard I’ve worked for this, Fi. I know you’re just trying to protect me, but you have to trust me.”

She looked at him now, eyes dark and grave. “Five years is a long time for anyone to have Handsome Jack in their head. How can you be sure he’s still the same guy you knew?”

Because he had faith. And because the alternative was unthinkable. “He’s strong, and I know him better than anyone else. He survived for years under Jack’s influence even before we met, I know he can survive this too.”

She gave him another long look before her posture softened a little. “Don’t bother going in there, he’s gone.”

“What?” He could hear the rising hysteria in his voice. Fiona had the decency to look embarrassed. “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “We just had a talk, that’s all. He only just stepped out, I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.”

“Goddamnit, Fiona.” He knew how she could get when she felt her family was under threat. He could only imagine what the ‘talk’ had involved, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He turned on his heels and bolted for the exit. 

Tim wasn’t outside the building. There was a blinding moment of panic when Rhys was sure he was already too late. He knew how capable Tim was, even half dead. If Tim really wanted to leave he would already be gone. 

He forced himself to slow down and take a deep breath. Panic was not going to help him now. He reined in the urge to freak out and thought about where Tim would likely go. The answer came to him immediately.

There was a part of the facility where the ground rose into a natural lookout point. From there you could see the entire spread of the place, from the frost mushrooms in the east to the huge tropic ferns in the west. It had been Tim’s favourite place, all those years ago.

Rhys ran up the hill, the soil rich and loamy under his feet. Every step released a sweet green scent from the soft grasses. Each leaf he brushed up against changed colour like he was moving through a painting. He had built up Gortys Inc. from Atlas’ ashes, and normally the forest was a place of comfort, somewhere he could imagine Tim coming back to, being happy in, but he wasn’t in the right headspace to appreciate it now.

As he crested the hill his heart leapt painfully in his chest. Tim was there, sitting with his back to Rhys, looking out over the landscape. Carefully, like approaching a wary animal, Rhys sat down beside him, close enough to touch without crowding into Tim’s space. 

He had had plenty of time in the medibay to study how the years had left their mark on Tim. There were new greys in Tim’s hair, his once deep tan had faded from lack of sun, and most disconcerting of all was that hand. Rhys couldn’t begin to imagine the circumstances which could have caused it, though the scar tissue edging into metal told its own story. He hated the glowing H stamped into it with a passion. It was a clear mark of Jack’s ownership, a stark reminder of just how much Jack had robbed from them. 

Tim turned to him, that mask still ageless and beautiful. The fractures in it moved as Tim gave him a small smile. “Hey you.” 

“Hi,” he answered. It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat. Rhys was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he had slept in his clothes and hadn’t shaved in days. He felt scruffy and unkept. It was not at all how he had wanted this to happen. He had wanted to be perfect for Tim, be that polished, confident peacock he had been when they first met. 

None of that seemed to matter to Tim. “Fiona’s pretty scary.”

Rhys grimaced. “Sorry about that. She means well.”

“I’m glad you have people who love you, Rhys.” Tim still looked tired, and he sat like being upright was an effort, but it was still a vast improvement to having him lying deathly still in the medibed.

“You really shouldn’t be walking around,” Rhys said, because it was easier than saying _I thought I was going to lose you again_. “The docs said you’ve built up a lot of resistance to health kits so it’s going to take a little while before you’re a hundred percent.”

Tim hummed, like almost dying was not much to get worked up over. “It’s even more beautiful here than I remember,” he said softly. 

“I kept it the way you like. I thought--I hoped you might be back one day.”

Tim lowered his head. “I’m sorry I had to leave, I hope you understand why I did. I never wanted to hurt you, but I know I did, and I’m sorry.”

Rhys’ chest grew tight at the memory. It still cut deep after all this time, knowing that Tim had left to throw himself on Jack’s mercy, and that he had done it to save Rhys' life. It hurt to be loved so much. “We’ll have to have a serious talk about your martyr complex one of these days,” he said, voice wobbling only a little.

Tim’s mouth twitched, but the shadows on his face were deep. “What happened to Jack?”

“He got away. I’m sorry.” In the chaos of the moment he had been too focused on keeping Tim alive to worry about anything else. Athena was certain she had wounded Jack, invisibility cloak or not, but until he saw the actual body with his own two eyes Rhys refused to believe he could be so lucky. The idea that Jack could still be out there, cunning and vengeful, made his skin prickle but there was no helping it. He would take a live Tim over a dead Jack any day. 

Tim straightened up with some effort. “He’ll come looking for me. It’s not safe for you to have me here. As soon as I’m well enough I’ll be on my way.”

“No!” Rhys said too loudly. So much for playing it cool. “Please,” he said more gently, “you don’t need to leave. The security here is top notch and Athena has a team of people who keep us safe. Jack is only one man. Without Hyperion’s resources he won’t be able to touch us.”

Tim looked around at him, surprise etched into his face. “You...want me to stay?”

“Do I want--” Rhys pressed his fingers into his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He wanted to laugh but he was afraid it might come out as a sob. “Tim,” he said slowly, “I spent five years barely sleeping to build up a company and depose Handsome Jack from his throne, just so I could have you back. Of course I want you to stay.” 

The words didn’t have their intended effect. Tim drew into himself, looking haunted. “Jack showed me what he did to you. I’m sorry, I never wanted to tell you, but you deserve to know. He made me watch. He made me--” He cut himself off. His metal fingers twitched compulsively. “I don’t know how you can bear to look at me without hating me.”

For a moment Rhys felt a rush of pure rage, not for what Jack did to him, but for how deeply Jack had sowed the seeds of self-doubt in Tim’s mind. He tamped it down because anger wasn’t what he needed now. He had won and Jack had lost, but if Rhys fucked up this next bit then it would all have been for nothing. He spoke softly, carefully, trying to get past the thick scars Jack had left behind to reach the tender skin beneath. “What Jack did was not your fault. I’ve always known that you’re nothing like him. I made that mistake only once, and that was before I even knew your name. Whatever Jack has told you, it’s not true.” He reached out and covered Jack's mark on Tim's hand with his own. “I know you, Tim Lawrence. I see you.”

Tim put his face in his hands and hunched over. At first Rhys thought his wounds were hurting him, but as he saw the shudders moving through Tim’s body he understood. Without thinking, he reached over and took Tim into his arms, holding him tight as Tim cried. 

It started almost soundlessly, as if Tim had suffered silently for so long that he had forgotten how to make any noise. Then as Rhys kept holding him Tim let out one shuddering gasp after another. The sounds were raw and ragged like they were being dragged from the deepest part of him. Rhys knew he was weeping for lost time, for years of pain and fear and hopelessness. But there was relief in there too. He felt it move through Tim like a storm, like one of those rare deluges that swept over Pandora with violence and feeling, washing everything clean. Jack had done his best to tear them to pieces, but they had survived. Heart aching, Rhys pressed his cheek against that dark head and waited for the storm to pass. 

At last Tim’s breathing evened out. His rigid body slowly relaxed like a clenched fist finally releasing. Tim turned in his embrace and hugged him close, pressing his wet face against Rhys’ neck. Rhys could feel the thudding of Tim’s heart against his chest, its rhythm strong and sweet. “I got you all damp, sorry,” Tim murmured against him.

Rhys startled himself by laughing. It was shaky but sincere, and he could feel the shape of Tim’s answering smile. “I’m CEO now, Tim, I can afford a new shirt.”

Tim chuckled wetly. “That’s right, you are.” He gave Rhys a gentle squeeze. “You’re incredible, you know. And you smell wonderful.”

Rhys grimaced. “I haven’t showered in two days.”

“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Tim’s arms tightened around him as if he was afraid Rhys would disappear, as if Rhys had been the one talking about leaving. 

Rhys petted his hand through Tim’s hair and forced himself to say, “You can leave if you want to.” It hurt to speak those words out loud but it was necessary. Tim had been denied autonomy and choice for so long that Rhys couldn’t bear to put another leash around his neck. “Go do your lone wolf thing. Pandora’s a hard place but I know you’ll survive." He took a deep breath. "Or you can stay, put down your gun and help me make things grow, if that’s what you still want.”

Tim drew back then to look him in the face, his eyes wide and shining. “You remembered,” he said, his voice soft with wonder. 

“Yeah, I remembered.” He gave Tim a small smile. “I never forgot you, Tim.”

Tim swallowed convulsively. He touched Rhys' cheek like he was waiting to be rebuffed. “Can I kiss you?”

Rhys' face hurt from the force of his grin. He felt as light as a feather. “Hell yes. I’ve been waiting to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

Tim drew him close and he went willingly, heart soaring. Tim’s mouth was soft and as familiar as home. Rhys could taste the salt of tears but he could feel Tim’s grin too, bright and beautiful, and he knew if he pulled back now he would see that gorgeous face lit up with joy but he didn’t want to stop, not yet. He wound his arms around Tim’s neck and kissed back with everything he had, giddy with happiness. Tim was going to stay, Tim would never have to hurt anyone ever again, and Rhys was going to do everything in his power to give Tim all that he deserved.

“We’re going to be okay,” Rhys said, half as a promise, half in prayer. 

Tim answered between kisses, “Yes” and “I love you” and “yes, yes, yes.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most happy union.

Rhys was no good with downtime. Since Gortys Inc. had joined the big leagues they had gone from strength to strength, leaving very little time for him to navel gaze. Now that he was on his first official week of leave since becoming CEO, he was antsy with the need to keep checking in. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his COO to keep things running, he just missed being in the thick of it all. 

It was lucky he had Tim here to distract him, even if the other man was equally bad with downtime. More than once he had caught Tim on his ECHOtab, wearing what Rhys mocked relentlessly as his ‘old man glasses’ and poring over the details of their latest project. This time away from their company (and Gortys Inc. was without question both theirs) took a little adjusting to, but it was good too. It wasn’t easy trying to reforest their dirt ball planet, especially when the residents’ main expression of gratitude was not aiming for centre mass. They were well overdue for a holiday, and it had taken a lot of planning to time it to coincide with Athena’s big day.

He was putting the finishing touches on the gift when Yvette’s call came through. “Hey girl!” he said. “How’s my baby doing without me?”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Rhys, Gortys Inc. just broke 10 million in profits for this quarter. Calling it your baby is weird and reductive.”

“Okay then, how’s my big girl doing?”

“Wow, that is so much worse. You sound like that creepy uncle who shows up drunk to a kid’s party. Besides,” she continued, “I’m insulted that you don’t think I’m capable of running the show for a week while you’re away.”

“That’s not what I meant, Vette.” 

Since its change in management over a year ago, Hyperion had begun the long slow slide into irrelevance. It had been hugely satisfying to watch that bloated whale be nibbled away by smaller, hungrier sharks. Yvette had been among the first wave of ex-Helios refugees to join up with Gortys Inc., all of them keen to try a workplace where promotions happened through merit rather than murder. She had very quickly proven herself capable of bossing everyone around with efficiency, which was why he had made her COO. 

“Yeah yeah, I know. I promise everything will still be in one piece when you get back,” she said. “Did you get the thing?”

“I did.” Rhys placed the gift reverently inside its box. The box was the size of a large book and weighty when full, its plain appearance belying the value of the gift inside. He couldn’t wait to see Tim’s face when he opened it. “It’s amazing, thanks for getting it here on time.”

“That’s what I do. And you can thank me properly with dinner.”

“Aw c’mon,” Rhys moaned. “I pay you more than those Hyperion jerks ever did, you can afford your own food now.”

“A free meal’s a free meal,” Yvette said, unmoved. “And you’re paying for Sash too. She’s your sister.”

“She’s your girlfriend!”

“We’re a package deal, Rhys, suck it up.”

“Okay, but I’m choosing the restaurant.”

“As long as it’s not that nasty pizza joint in T-Bone Junction.”

“Hey, Tim likes that place.”

“Rhys, I’ve seen that man eat week-old skag with all apparent enjoyment, he doesn’t get a vote in this. I want to go somewhere nice and not get dysentery.”

“Ugh, fine, no pizza.”

“I’m glad we had this talk,” Yvette said. “Now go enjoy the party and say hi to everyone for me.”

*

The party couldn’t start without the bride and her best man. Rhys found them both in the honeymoon suite, getting ready. 

His breath caught at the sight of Tim. He had grown used to seeing Tim in simple, dirt-streaked clothes--where Rhys spent the majority of his time behind a desk, Tim preferred to be on site. Most days he came home nut-brown from the sun, smelling of clean sweat and freshly turned earth. Every time Rhys reminded him that he didn’t need to do the actual labour, Tim would only smile and say, “I don’t mind, it makes me happy,” and it would take a harder man than Rhys to deny him that. 

But tonight Tim had dressed up for the occasion, and the sight of him in an open collar shirt and a sharply tailored jacket did terrible things to Rhys’ self-control. It was just as well that Athena was there to stop him from climbing Tim like a tree.

Athena was resplendent in her gown, its vibrant colour a lovely contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. Not for the first time Rhys realised that she was a stunning woman. It wasn’t like he never noticed, it was just hard to remember that when her mere presence commanded a very healthy fear of death. 

Right now though she looked sick with nerves, which was novel considering he had seen her take down entire convoys of screaming psychos without so much as breaking a sweat. “I can’t kick in this damn dress.”

“You won’t need to,” Tim said in a tone like he had been saying the same thing for the past hour. 

Athena grunted, then materialised a disturbingly large knife. It made short work of the heavy skirt, and soon there was a long slit up the side, high enough to expose one thigh.

“Uh,” Rhys said. “Is that a gun you’ve got strapped to your leg?”

“Yes,” Athena said like he was stating the obvious. “I’m not going unarmed to my own wedding.”

“Are shootouts going to feature heavily at the ceremony?"

“No, but I like to be prepared.”

“Oh. And, uh, what’s the knife for?”

She gave him a dead eyed stare. “People who ask annoying questions.”

Rhys clamped his mouth shut and held up his hands. He knew when to leave well enough alone. Tim grinned at them both like this was all just normal and passed her a glass of champagne. 

“Oh thank fuck.” She grabbed it and tossed back the whole thing in one breath. “Okay, now I’m really glad I saved your life that one time.” 

Tim laughed. “Me too, buddy. Now let’s get out there, can’t keep your lovely bride waiting.”

Athena took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You got my back, Tim?”

“Always.”

As Athena led the way out, Tim followed, taking up Rhys’ hand in his own. “You look great,” he said with a smile.

Rhys looked down at himself. "This is what I wear every day."

"And you look great every day.”

"Flatterer." Rhys had time enough to steal a kiss before Tim turned to walk Athena down the aisle. 

The team had done a great job decorating Janey’s workshop: it was amazing how much ambience could be achieved with string lights and fresh cut flowers. The crowd of friendly faces turned to watch Athena enter. If she was still nervous she hid it well; only the astute observer could see how tightly she was gripping onto Tim’s arm. 

Rhys wasn’t big on weddings, but even he had to admit this was a good one. Janey looked stunning in her dress, the odd grease stains here and there notwithstanding, and her entire face lit up at the sight of Athena. When Sasha pronounced the happy couple married, Janey whooped and dipped Athena for a resounding kiss. Rhys cheered with everyone else because it was always fun to watch the usually stony-faced warrior turn bright red at a touch from her wife. 

With the ceremony complete, the drinks were flowing freely and the dance floor was filling up. Rhys moved through the crowd, greeting friends and employees alike, looking for their latest recruit. He found Vaughn toward the back, standing with Fiona who was doing her best to ignore him. 

Since arriving on Pandora a few weeks ago, Vaughn had grown out his beard and stopped wearing shirts. It was certainly a Choice, but one that Rhys fully supported because he was the best of bros.

Vaughn perked up at the sight of him. “Rhys!”

“Buddy!” Rhys swept him into a hug and laughed when Vaughn lifted him off his feet. “Man, don't take this the wrong way but I’m so glad you got fired for throwing your desk at Vasquez.”

Vaughn grimaced. “Not my proudest moment, but yeah, it was definitely time to get out. Thanks for giving me a job, bro.”

“Of course, bro! I’m so stoked to finally have the Money Man on my team!”

“Bro,” Vaughn said with feeling.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Ugh, please stop.” 

Rhys slung an arm around her too and squeezed them both against his sides. “Hey Vaughn, you’ve met my sister Fiona? Don’t let that scowl fool you, deep down she’s a big pile of wriggling puppies.”

She glared at him, but Rhys was too busy watching Vaughn make eyes at her. He gave his buddy an encouraging waggle of his brows. 

“Uh, hi Fiona” Vaughn said. “L-looks like everyone’s dancing, do you want--”

“No,” said Fiona.

“Oh.” Vaughn cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll uh, I’m just gonna go grab another drink.”

Rhys gave his retreating back a sympathetic wave and turned to his sister. “You should give him a chance, Fi. Vaughn is a great guy.”

Fiona made a face. “Sure, but you’re joined at the hip with Tim and your other BFF is already dating Sasha. This office pool is getting a little too incestuous as it is. Plus, I refuse to date anyone who's allergic to wearing a shirt.”

"Cut him a little slack, he's still trying to figure who he is now that he’s on Pandora. Besides, you gotta admire those cut abs, huh?"

“I just keep having these flashbacks to that time we were ambushed by psychos.”

“Don’t worry, Vaughn’s not a screamer.” He paused. “At least not in that way, I think.”

Fiona was rolling her eyes again but he had spotted Tim beneath a string of lights, dancing with Sasha. Mumbling a hasty excuse, he left Fiona and made a beeline for the dancefloor.

For someone who moved like poetry with a gun in his hand, Tim was all elbows and knees when he danced. Not that it proved much of a hindrance: he was grinning widely, moving with a joyous abandon that was irresistible. Rhys watched as he shook his hips at Sasha, making her laugh.

“I thought Rhys had the worst white boy moves, but you’ve got him beat!”

"I used to be a redhead,” Tim replied with a grin. “Can’t get much whiter than that.”

This was a recent thing Rhys had noticed: Tim was starting to speak more and more about his past life, like it was something he was slowly reacquainting himself with. It seemed that with enough time and good, peaceful living, even the deepest wounds could start to heal. The thought made Rhys’ chest grow tight and warm. He stepped up and slung an arm over Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t diss me in front of my date,” he said to Sasha in mock offence. “I’m trying to get lucky.”

Sash made a face at him. “And that’s my cue to leave. Don’t suck face all night, guys, some of your employees would still like to be able to look you in the eye tomorrow.” She beat a tactful retreat, and Rhys decided that she was his favourite sister for the night. 

Tim turned and gave him a heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile. “There you are.” His cheeks were pink from dancing and his greying hair fell loose over his eyes. He was the most stunning man in the whole room, and possibly all of Elpis.

Tim made a pleased sound as Rhys leaned into his kiss. Those big hands drew him in until they were pressed hip-to-hip, moving together to the beat of the music. Rhys ran his hands up over those delicious shoulders. “Did you really used to have red hair?”

“Yup, and braces, beer bottle glasses and acne. I was the whole package,” Tim said drily. 

“I bet you were adorable. I’ve got a real thing for nerds, you know.”

“Ah, so you do like my old man glasses after all.”

“I like you, old man.” He kissed Tim again, and groaned helplessly as Tim’s mouth opened under his. Just one more dance, he decided, and then he’d drag Tim away to tear him out of those lovely clothes.

“Rhys,” Tim said into his mouth. “We’re in public.”

“Stop kissing me then,” he retorted. Tim only drew him closer and deepened their kiss.

“Get a room, assholes!” Fiona called out as she whirled past, leading a dazed looking Vaughn.

Tim laughed, and it transformed his beautiful face into something breathtaking. 

“That’s the best idea anyone’s had all night,” Rhys said, and tugged him toward their rooms.

*

It was hard to think straight when he had Tim pressing him against the door of their room, all that big broad body holding him up as Tim kissed him hungrily. It would be so easy to fall into bed right now, or sink to his knees and show Tim some appreciation, but Rhys had something else in mind first.

“Wait, wait,” he gasped as Tim palmed his ass, one firm thigh sliding in between his. He almost regretted saying anything when Tim drew away, responsive as always to his every instruction. 

“Everything okay?” Tim brushed a thumb along his cheek, eyes warm and heavy lidded. 

Rhys swallowed the habitual surge of desire. He never tired of seeing Tim like this, so open and unafraid, ready to take whatever Rhys was willing to give him. And Rhys wanted to give him the world. 

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” He picked up the box from its resting place and held it out to Tim, heart racing in his chest. “Here, I got you something.”

Tim looked pleasantly surprised. “It’s more traditional to give a gift to the people getting married.”

“That’s already sorted.” Rhys had arranged to have the fast travel station on Concordia hooked up to the Gortys Inc. network. Now Athena could visit Janey whenever she had some spare time. He knew better than most how hard it was to be separated from a loved one. “I wanted to get you something, seeing as it’s been just over a year since you came back, not that I want to commemorate you getting shot or almost dying or whatever.” Oh god he was rambling. “Please, just open it.”

Tim gave him a little smile and opened the box.

The prosthetic hand resting inside looked very real, every line and crease painstakingly perfected. The synth-skin was the latest innovation by Gortys Inc., with sensory feedback miles above what the closest competitors could offer. The colour had been carefully matched to Tim's skin tone and would tan or lighten the same way a real limb would. This had been Rhys' passion project for the past year, and the resulting patents were going to make them a lot of money, but profits were not what had motivated him. The idea had been with him since the start, almost from the moment he saw Jack’s mark on Tim. It had been a labour of love, and it was beyond gratifying to have the tangible result of all his hard work here in front of him.

Tim was very quiet. From this angle it was hard to tell what expression was on his face. As the moment stretched on Rhys felt excitement give way to doubt. Shit, what if Tim hated it? The last person to have given him something like this was Jack, what if this only brought back bad memories? "I wanted to surprise you,” he blurted out, “but I guess I should've asked you first. If you hate it we can pretend this never happened."

He tried to take the box away but Tim put a hand over his. When Rhys dared to glance up, Tim was very close, looking at him with infinite warmth. “It’s wonderful, thank you. Will you help me with it?”

All the breath left Rhys in a rush. He nodded, weak with relief. With a savage kind of satisfaction he detached the old Hyperion model and sealed it away in the box, then fitted the new hand with great care. 

Maybe it was the occasion, or maybe he was a little tipsy, but the moment felt charged, symbolic of something important. He held his breath as the prosthetic clicked into place. It was a perfect match: other than the fading scar tissue at the wrist, he could hardly tell where the hand ended and Tim began. He knew it worked when the fingers curled over his own, the synth-skin warm and soft to the touch.

“Oh,” Tim let out a little sigh. “It’s so sensitive.” He examined his new hand, seemingly fascinated by the natural movements, the fine lines and scatter of freckles across the back. “This is incredible work, Rhys. It’s even better than the real thing.”

Rhys swelled with pride until he felt like he could burst. He might be useless in a firefight, but he knew his tech. He could turn an idea into reality and have Tim look at him like Rhys was a miracle worker.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Tim said regretfully.

“I already have everything I want.” Rhys took up the new hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. “But if you’re looking to show me a little appreciation I’ve got a couple ideas.” And then, just because he could, he sucked two of the fingers into his mouth and watched Tim’s reaction through his lashes. 

Tim’s mouth dropped open as heat flashed through his eyes. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“But what a way to go, huh?” Rhys leaned in and kissed Tim’s laughing mouth. 

Those strong arms drew him close as Tim kissed him back deeply, his heart racing under Rhys’ touch. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Tim said softly. 

Rhys knew he shouldn’t, but it was such a perfect opening that he couldn’t resist. “Would you say that the universe has dealt you...a good hand?”

“Oh my god,” Tim groaned.

“C’mon,” he grinned, “I couldn’t let an opportunity like that just slip through my fingers.”

“Please stop.”

“You might think it’s a little heavy-handed, but I can keep this up all night.”

“I can’t believe I’m still going to have sex with you,” Tim said, sounding pained. "How can someone so dorky be so attractive?"

Rhys batted his eyelashes. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

"I do, I really, really do,” Tim said against his lips. Rhys' giggle turned into a contented sigh as Tim deftly helped him out of his clothes, those big hands stroking warm and worshipful over his bare skin. 

Life was never going to be easy. There was always a new threat on the horizon, and Handsome Jack was still out there somewhere, biding his time. But none of that was important when he had Tim here, kissing him like Rhys was the only thing that mattered. Rhys had always known he was destined for greater things, and the best of them was right here in his arms, scarred but strong and beautifully alive. Whatever the universe chose to throw at them, he knew they would thrive because he had Tim by his side, and that made Rhys the luckiest man in all six galaxies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we’re done! Who’da thought the urge to write badwrong Rhack smut would evolve into a love story, but honestly I’m not even mad. Writing this has helped me through some dark and scary times, and I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos and comments along the way. It’s been a blast and I can’t wait to share more stories with you all <3


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